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I 


THE RUNAWAY 


N 




J 


At that instant he stumbled and fell 



THE RUNAWAY 


BY 


ALLEN FRENCH 

h 

Author op "The Junior Cup,” “Sir Marrok,” Etc. 


WITH ILLUSTRATIONS 
BY 

C. M. RELYEA 



NEW YORK 
THE CENTURY CO. 
1914 




COPYEIGHT, 1914, BY 
THE CENTURY CO. 


Published f September y 1914 



SEP 30 1914 


©CI,A38()G06 

71., I, 


TO 


MAUDE AND FRANCES 


/ 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I THE WALLET 3 

II THE STRANGER AGAIN 20 

III A HIDING PLACE 40 

IV THE PROBLEM •. . . . 62 

V THE BOYS IMEET AGAIN 73 

VI NATE HAS A PLAN 92 

VII DIFFERENT IDEAS OF DUTY 110 

VIII THE WAY HOME 126 

IX SHERLOCK HOLMES, JUNIOR 147 

X ANOTHER FAAIILY COUNCIL ...... 167 

XI BRIAN’S OPINIONS 176 

XII TWO KINDS OF BRAVERY ....... 187 

XIII PURSUIT 198 

XIV INVESTIGATIONS 210 

XV MR LEE INTERESTS HIMSELF 227 

XVI DARING AGAINST DARING 245 

XVII SHERLOCK HOLMES AGAIN 259 

XVIII CONCERNING MR. LEE 274 

XIX RODMAN EXPLAINS 295 

XX RODMAN’S STORY 303 

XXI ACTIONS AND REACTIONS 318 

XXII OUT OF THE SMOKE 341 

XXIII GETTING EVEN 357 
















LIST OF ILLrSTEATIONS 


At that instant he stumbled and fell . . . Frontispiece 

PAGE 


Brian rushed at him. *^Give me that!” IS V 

“Stand still!” commanded Harriet 25 v 

A glance out of the window showed Pelham and Brian on 

the tennis-court 59 v- 

“How do you do this morning, Wilson ?” Mr. Dodd asked 69 » 
Plumping down on the grass beside the invalid, he began 

to talk . . . , 85 

He seemed to put himself on his guard 117 

A flimsy fence was all that stood between the carriage and 

a steep hillside 131 

The envelop slipped from his pocket and fell from the 

bridge 155 

The automobile had thrust itself between the canoe and 

the greedy falls! 195 

And then Rodman knew his mistake 241 , 

Nate^s eye flashed. “Stop it!” he commanded .... 281 
Mr. Lee lowered his newspaper and watched him . . . 285 

Rodman explains 305 

“You don^t need to beg my pardon,” she said . . . 351 

“School dress!” she cried. “Sunday best, you mean” . 365 


\ 


I 



THE RUNAWAY 



\ 


THE RUNAWAY 


CHAPTEE I 

THE WALLET 

T WO boys were driving along a wooded road. 

It was June in the heart of Massachusetts, 
and even in the shade of the tall trees the air 
was so warm that the lads had laid off their 
jackets, and were enjoying the comfort of their 
outing shirts. 

While the passenger talked, the driver listened. 
Silent though he was, his quick eye glanced con- 
stantly along the roadside, through the woods, or 
up and down the vista of the road. Yet from 
time to time his glance came back, inquiringly, 
to the lad at his side. At each glance he ap- 
praised something in the other : the silk stockings, 
the patent-leather belt, the heavy gold fob, the 
fine texture of the shirt, or the handsome scarf- 
pin. All of these were in contrast to his own 
costume, which was plainer and simpler. At 

3 


4 


THE RUNAWAY 


each glance, also, the driver swept his eye across 
the other ^s face, noting afresh the narrow chin, 
the loose lips, the nose a little upturned, and the 
brown, self-satisfied, inattentive eyes. 

The talker drew out a little silver case. ‘‘A 
cigarette, Pelham 1!’ 

‘^No, thanks,’’ said the other. 

His companion, with a cigarette between 
his lips, looked at him sidewise, shrewdly. 
‘‘Wouldn’t you like to, though?” 

Pelham laughed, but gave no other answer. 

The other persisted: “Your father won’t let 
you?” He began to light his cigarette. 

“He ’d scalp me,” answered Pelham, still smil- 
ing. 

The other grew serious. “That ’s perfect 
tyranny!” he declared. “And it’s entirely out 
of date for fellows nowadays.” 

“Hold on!” said Pelham. “He wouldn’t 
scalp me for smoking, but for breaking my prom- 
ise.” 

“Good heavens!” cried his companion. “Why 
should you promise such a thing?” But Pelham 
merely smiled, not even changing expression at 
the taunt, “Country!” He did, however, the 
next moment, quickly draw rein, stop the horse. 


THE WALLET 


5 


and leap from the runabout. Going back for a 
few yards, be searched a moment by the side of 
the road, stamped vigorously, and then returned 
to the carriage. 

The other looked at him in surprise. ‘ ^ Did you 
go back just to put out my match T’ 

needed it,’’ was the answer. ‘‘You ’d bet- 
ter learn right now, Brian, that you can’t do any- 
thing much more dangerous than that. When you 
throw away that cigarette, be sure to throw it in 
the middle of the road.” 

“You say it ’s dangerous?” asked Brian, in- 
credulous. 

“We haven’t had rain for nearly a month,” 
explained Pelham. “It threatens to he another 
dry summer. The old leaves are as dry as tin- 
der, and a fire might sweep for miles. That ’s 
one thing,” he added, “that a city fellow never 
considers. ’ ’ 

Brian reared his head as if his pride was 
touched. “We can’t know everything,” he re- 
sponded. “I suppose I ’d have been taught that 
in this little town where we ’ve been buying sup- 
plies. You seem to think it quite a place, but it ’s 
little bigger than your own village.” 

“About ten times bigger,” remarked Pelham. 


6 


THE RUNAWAY 


‘‘Nothing to buy there/’ scoffed Brian. “I 
saw nothing to make me take out my roll.” 

“What do you mean by this roll that you talk 
so much about?” asked Pelham. “I thought it 
was understood that your father was to give you 
no more than my allowance, five dollars a month. ’ ’ 

“Just the same,” laughed Brian, “was it 
agreed that I was to come without money? It ’s 
all very well, Pelly, my boy, limiting myself down 
to your scale of living. Thanks to that robbery, 
my European trip is spoiled, and Father has to 
spend the summer in the city. Even Mother is 
visiting about. So if I ’m to live here with you 
people, it ’s right that I should n’t bring my luxu- 
rious habits to corrupt Uncle Rob’s simple coun- 
try household. Mind you, I don’t think that 
Uncle is right. He can do nothing to stop the 
march of progress proper to people of our class. 
And I think it will work out wrong for you in the 
long run. When you get to college, Pelham, and 
meet the fellows that have money — ^well, never 
mind. But, at any rate, for this summer I ’ll 
keep within the same allowance as you do.” 

Pelham had listened quietly. The other had 
not watched his face, or he would have noticed 
the eyes growing more and more serious, the 


THE WALLET 


7 


mouth more and more firm. At the end, he asked, 
in a voice that was perfectly level, ^^But the 
rolir^ 

Brian reached into his pocket, and, drawing out 
a wallet, displayed within it layer upon layer of 
bank-bills. ‘‘Why, how you stare!” he mocked. 
“Has Cousin Pelham never seen so much be- 
fore?” 

But Pelham was not staring. A little line, the 
beginning of a frown, showed between his eye- 
brows. Little prickles ran up his neck, a strange 
sensation of anger at this defiance of his father. 

“Don^t let Father see it!” he warned. 

‘ ‘ What if he did ? ’ ^ asked Brian, flushing. 

“I guess,” his cousin answered, “that either 
you or the money would go straight back to the 
city. ’ ’ 

“If he did that,” began Brian, hotly, “then my 
father — ” He checked himself. “My mother, I 
mean — ” He stopped entirely. 

Pelham smiled with sudden amusement. “So 
Aunt Annie gave you the money! Well, Brian, 
keep it to yourself, that ’s all.” 

Brian slipped the wallet into his pocket. “No 
fear,” he remarked. “There isn’t anything to 
spend it on here, anyway. If I had Father ’s auto 


8 


THE RUNAWAY 


here, I could run you over to Springfield in a 
couple of hours, and give you some fun.’^ 

‘‘Your father lets you run his big autoT’ asked 
Pelham, with a slight accent of surprise. 

Brian looked away. “I can run it,’’ he an- 
swered. “But, Pelham,” he asked quickly, 
“doesn’t your father ever let you handle 
money? He ought to get you used to it.” 

‘ ‘ Oh, I ’m used to it, ’ ’ replied Pelham. ‘ ‘ More 
than once I ’ve carried three thousand dollars, all 
in hills, right in my inside pocket.” 

“What for?” said Brian, surprised in his turn. 

‘ ‘ For the pay-roll, ’ ’ explained Pelham. ‘ ‘ Some 
of our men at the mills get as high as thirty dol- 
lars a week, and all of them are paid above the 
average of ordinary mill-workers. The money 
comes over this road every Saturday, and — ” 

“Over this road!” interrupted Brian. He 
glanced up and down the lonely road, running 
through unbroken woods. “Why, a robbery 
would be eas^l” 

“Not with Father or Brother Bob carrying the 
money!” There was a ring of pride in Pelham’s 
voice. “They ’re known to be pretty handy with 
the revolver. Bob brought over the stutf this 
morning. ’ ’ 


THE WALLET 9 

^‘But what have you to do with the money 
asked Brian. 

‘ ^ Oh, sometimes when they ’re very busy in the 
office, Father sends me home with it, and Mother 
and Harriet and I make up the pay envelops. 
Or Harriet and I do it alone ; she ’s mighty clever 
about it. And then I take the envelops back to 
the mill. It ’s only a couple of hundred yards.” 

‘^Only a couple of hundred yards!” scotfed 
Brian. ‘Ht was only twenty-five feet across the 
alleyway from the bank to the side door of 
Father’s office, but the messenger lost twenty 
thousand dollars there last month in just three 
seconds !” 

‘‘It was hard,” murmured Pelham, sympatheti- 
cally. 

“It meant no Europe for me,” grumbled Brian. 
“And Mother ’s given up her limousine, and 
Father has no summer vacation. I tell you, Pel- 
ham, if you lived in the city, you ’d never dare 
take such risks with your money. Why, I don’t 
go fifty feet in a crowded street without touch- 
ing myself to see if my money is safe.” Brian 
put his hand to his hip, started, stared, felt wildly 
inside the pocket, then cried: 

“The wallet is gone!” 


10 


THE RUNAWAY 


Pelham stopped the horse. ‘^Look under your 
feet,’’ he suggested. 

But Brian was already searching frantically 
among the bundles that had reposed beneath the 
seat. ‘^It ’s not here!” he cried, after a minute. 
‘^Pelham, we must go back. It must have fallen 
out ! ” 

^‘Jump out and walk back,” directed Pelham. 
‘‘I ’ll turn and follow.” 

Presently they were going slowly back, the one 
walking, the other in the wagon, both looking care- 
fully in the middle of the road and on both sides. 
But the wallet was not found. 

<<We ’ve not missed it,” stated Pelham, pres- 
ently. ‘‘And we ’ve passed the place where you 
had it in your hand.” 

“Just around this next bend,” said Brian. 

‘ ‘ It was in your hand as we turned the curve, ’ ’ 
asserted Pelham. 

“No,” insisted Brian, “I must look!” 

They went, therefore, around the bend, Brian 
first, Pelham after. And there, in the middle of 
the road, stood a lad no older than themselves, in- 
tently examining something which he held in his 
hand. He was more than half turned away from 
them, and his face they could not see. 


THE WALLET 


11 


Instinctively Brian trod softly; and Pelham, 
stopping the horse, leaped silently to the ground 
and glided to his cousin’s side. On tiptoe they ap- 
proached the boy, until they could see what he 
held. It was, unmistakably, a wallet. 

He caught the sound of their steps, and thrust 
the wallet into his pocket. Then he turned. He 
was startled to find strangers so close upon him, 
and threw his head high, while his nostrils dis- 
tended with his sudden gasp. But he stood his 
ground. Pelham felt the swift impression of the 
wiry, well-knit frame ; the clothes, not ragged, yet 
apparently torn by briers; the crop of fair and 
well-trimmed hair, not guarded by a cap ; and the 
high forehead; but all these he merely glimpsed, 
for almost immediately his attention was riveted 
by the stranger’s eye, alert and inquiring, yet 
curiously gentle. The boy was looking at Brian. 

Brian rushed at him. ‘‘Give me that!” 

The brown eye snapped, the nostrils opened 
wider, and the stranger stopped Brian with a 
rigid arm. As if instantly measuring him, and 
while holding him in play, the lad looked past 
Brian at Pelham, to see what threatened from 
him. 

The eye was like that of a deer, which looks 


12 


THE EUNAWAY 


for kindness even when at bay. In spite of the 
frown and the set jaw, the eye was liquid, almost 
girlish in its appeal. Yet this was only for a 
moment. For Brian, grappling at the arm that 
held him otf, cried, ‘‘Take him, Pelly!’’ and Pel- 
ham, unwillingly yet loyally responding, moved 
to take the stranger from the other side. 

Then the softness vanished from the eye; it 
flashed dark lightning, the wiry frame bent and 
then snapped erect — and between Pelham and the 
stranger sprawled Brian, face downward in the 
dust. 

For a moment the lad confronted Pelham; then 
suddenly he turned and plunged into the woods. 

Pelham, leaping over his cousin, followed in- 
stantly, although a grudging admiration checked 
the fierceness of a true pursuit. At the third 
leap, he found himself amid a thicket of birches, 
through which the stranger had already passed. 
Another stride, and he tripped. As he narrowly 
saved himself from falling, and staggered against 
a tree before he could recover his balance, he 
saw that his chance of success was gone. The 
stranger had vanished behind a screen of scrub- 
pine, and not a sound floated back to tell of his 
course. Pelham returned to the road. 



Brian rushed at him 


“Give me that!” 








THE WALLET 


15 


Brian was just rising to Lis feet, making un- 
seemly sounds as lie cleared Lis moutL of dust. 
‘^You lost Lim!’^ Le accused. 

^‘So did you,’’ responded PelLam. Sudden 
amusement seizing Lim at tLe sigLt of Lis cousin’s 
angry, dirty face, Le turned quickly to tLe Lorse. 
Brian kept at Lis side. 

‘‘Ptoo!” Le spluttered. ^‘All dirt! Turn tLe 
Lorse around! PtaL! We ’ll give tLe alarm at 
tLe village. ’ ’ In anotLer minute, tLey were spin- 
ning Lomeward. Paster!” urged Brian. 

‘‘We can’t keep a faster pace tLan tLis,” an- 
swered PelLam. He listened in silence to Lis 
cousin’s denunciations, until Brian grew peevisL 
for lack of a response. “Look Lere,” Le de- 
manded. “TLat fellow Las my money. Don’t 
you care I” 

PelLam was tLinking. “Brian,” Le asked, 
‘ ‘ are you sure you put your wallet in your pocket 
before we passed tLat turn?” 

“WLat if I didn’t?” returned Brian. “He 
could Lave found it at tLis side of tLe bend, and 
dodged out of sight.” 

“Yes,” answered PelLam. “But where could 
Le have come from? He could n’t Lave overtaken 
us, coming on foot. He certainly didn’t come 


/ 


16 


THE RUNAWAY 


this way. I should have seen him if he had been 
sitting by the road. And as for his coming 
through the woods, why, there ’s scarcely a path 
or a farm or a clearing from the railroad, five 
miles north of this strip of road, to the river, 
three miles south.” 

‘^What of it?” demanded Brian. ‘‘The thing 
to do is to catch him. I tell you to hurry.” 

“We ’re going as fast as we can,” returned 
Pelham. “And as for catching him, it depends 
entirely on the direction that he takes. He may 
swing toward Nate’s farm, and if he comes out 
there, we ’ve as good as got him already. But 
if he keeps to the west of it, we ’ll have to turn 
out the whole town in order to catch him.” 

“Then we’ll turn out the town!” declared 
Brian. 

Pelham asked. “What are you going to say 
about the money ? ” 

Brian was checked, but only for a moment. 
“I ’ll say that there was five dollars in the wal- 
let.” 

“You won’t get up much interest in that,” re- 
marked Pelham. 

“Well, then,” declared Brian, “I ’ll catch that 
fellow, even if I have to tell the truth. There 


THE WALLET 17 

was a hundred and seventy-five in the wal- 
let/’ 

Pelham whistled. ‘‘That ’s worth offering a 
reward for. We can turn out the boys and even 
the mill-hands on the strength of that. They ’re 
all free on Saturday afternoon.” 

They drove on for a while in silence. The road 
wound slowly upward until, reaching the “height 
of land,” it paused for a moment before its 
descent, and gave a single view of a round valley, 
in the center of which lay a village. Then once 
more the travelers, descending, were among 
trees. 

“Brian,” ventured Pelham at length, consoling, 
“that ’s a pretty big loss.” 

Brian answered sharply: “Don’t speak about 
it.” 

Pelham looked at him in surprise. Brian was 
sitting huddled together, with both his hands in 
his pockets. His face was red, and he did not 
look at his cousin. 

‘ ‘ Oh, very well, ’ ’ said Pelham, slowly. The un- 
certainties of his cousin’s temper irritated him, 
but he reminded himself that Brian’s loss was 
heavy, and that his fall in the road must have 
shaken him roughly. He said no more, therefore. 


18 


THE RUNAWAY 


but drove on until the woods gave way to fields, 
and the village lay in sight. 

It was a typical New England town, spread on 
both sides of a narrow stream which, from its 
depth and swiftness, almost merited the name of 
river. The road crossed it near the woods, and 
met it again in the center of the village, where 
the best houses of the place were spaced at gener- 
ous intervals. From one opening in the houses 
and trees could be seen, not far away, a collec- 
tion of long, stone buildings, the mills of Pel- 
ham’s father. Finest of all the houses of the vil- 
lage stood the Dodd homestead, likewise of stone, 
square, and solid, and simple. It stood well back 
from the street, amid lawns, shrubberies, and 
flowers. Beyond it showed glimpses of a wide 
mill-pond. Pelham turned the horse in at the 
gate, and drove toward the house. There, seeing 
his father sitting upon the piazza, Pelham stopped 
the horse, and spoke. 

‘‘Father,” he said, “back here in the woods 
Brian dropped his wallet from the carriage, and 
when we went back for it, we found that a boy, 
one that I never saw before, had picked it up. 
He got away from us, and ran into the woods.” 

Mr. Dodd rose and came to the railing. He 


THE WALLET 


19 


was a man of middle height, stockily built, and 
with a short, grizzled beard. His keen eyes 
looked at his nephew. ‘‘How much money did 
you loseT^ 

“Only five dollars,’’ answered Brian. 

Pelham looked at him quickly. Brian, still un- 
comfortably slumped in his seat, did not look up 
to meet his uncle’s eye. 

“Don’t feel so badly about it,” said Mr. Dodd. 
“Perhaps we can make it up to you.” 

“Oh, no!” protested Brian. His face, under 
Pelham’s gaze, slowly reddened deeply. 

“We ’ll see,” said his uncle. “Lucky it was n’t 
more I ’ ’ 

The two hoys drove to the stable. “So!” said 
Pelham, after a pause, “you ’d rather lose the 
money than tell Father the truth of it?” 

Brian, still very red, made no answer. 


CHAPTEE n 


THE STKANGEE AGAIN 

O N a hillside, three girls were picking berries. 

Clumps of blueberiy bushes, which here 
yielded their earliest fruit, dotted the pasture. 
The wide field was fringed, at its upper edge, with 
woods, beyond which rose the weather-worn face 
of a cliff that topped them by a dozen feet. 
Turning and looking down the slope, the girls 
could see a valley shaped like a bowl, in whose 
bottom reposed a little town. Five miles away, 
a gap in the circle of hills showed the outlet to 
the river. 

There was but one of the girls worth our at- 
tention. The others were nobodies, the hand 
maidens of Nausicaa, whose self she was. But 
they felt themselves quite her equals, never sus- 
pected her of being a princess, and called her 
Harriet. Their talk was girls’ talk, happy and 
careless, except when one of them asked : 
20 


THE STRANGER AGAIN 21 

“Aren’t yon scared to be so far away by our- 
selves?” 

Harriet straightened her slender figure, shook 
down the berries in her basket, and looked at the 
town. “Three miles home,” she said. “I can 
see our own roof. But it ’s only a mile to Nate’s. 
Why should we be scared?” 

Her voice was clear, her tone light. The other 
asked her: “Aren’t you ever scared?” 

“Are you?” returned Harriet. Her gray eyes 
showed amusement. 

“Oh, I am, often,” cried the third of the girls. 
‘ ^ I hate to be out after dusk ; and I loathe the gar- 
ret and the cellar. I don’t hke any lonesome 
places. I wouldn’t come here all by myself for 
a^^thing ! ’ ’ 

Harriet smiled. “What is there to hurt us?” 

“I suppose,” said one of the others, “you think 
you can’t be scared!” 

“I know I can,” Harriet answered. “But I 
hope never to be. ’ ’ She looked again at the land- 
scape. “Here least of all. Why, it ’s beautiful 
here !” 

One of her companions clutched her arm. 
“There ’s some one on the cliff!” They all 
turned and looked. 


22 


THE RUNAWAY 


The cliff was, perhaps, a hundred feet away, 
its brown and streaked rocks topped with low 
bushes. ‘‘I see no one,’^ said Harriet. 

‘‘He was climbing down,’’ explained the other. 
“He ’s got behind the trees. Listen!” 

They listened, and from behind the trees came 
the sound of scrambling. “It was a man?” asked 
Harriet, lowering her voice in spite of her- 
self. 

“ Or a boy, ’ ’ was the answer. The other pulled 
nervously at her hand. “Let ’s run!” 

“Eun?” demanded Harriet. “It may be some 
one we know. It ought to be. ’ ’ 

“Let ’s hide, then, till we make sure,” urged 
the other, her voice trembling. 

Harriet looked around upon the low bushes. 
“There ’s no place to hide. We must wait.” 

The others, pressing close on either hand, 
clutched her gown. Impatient that, in spite of 
herself, their fears infected her, she stood, with 
head erect, trying to pierce the screen of trees 
that concealed the face of the cliff. And now 
showed clearly which was the princess here, and 
which the handmaidens; for, while the others 
drew partly behind her, she pressed a little for- 
ward. 


THE STRANGER AGAIN 


23 


‘‘Don’t!’’ they begged, clutching her the 
tighter. 

Suddenly there came a crash, the clatter of 
rocks striking and breaking, and a long, splinter- 
ing fall. Then came a great cry of pain and hor- 
ror. The two girls squealed and cowered, put- 
ting up their hands as against a blow. Even 
Harriet, though she held herself still more erect, 
responded to the cry with a gasp that was like a 
sob. Then there was silence. 

“Oh,” cried one of the girls, “what is it?” 

“Wait,” answered Harriet. 

Behind the trees, at first, was stillness ; but then, 
as they listened, there came a groan. The two 
girls sprang backward. “Run!” 

“Stand still!” commanded Harriet. She did 
not know that she was brave, nor think that she 
was sensible; but the others felt her power, and 
crept back to their positions behind her. 

There was another groan, and then a scuffing 
began among the trees. The bushes creaked and 
snapped. The girls, with straining eyes, saw first 
a glimpse of white, then a blond head, and then, 
blindly staggering into the open, the figure of a 
boy. And such a figure ! One temple was 
streaming blood; the face writhed with pain; and 


24 


THE RUNAWAY 


from one arm, held stiffly forward, protruded the 
stub of a tree-branch, standing out like a bone 
from a red rent in the wrist. 

‘‘Oh!’^ shuddered the two girls. Fascinated 
by this terrible figure, they stared, motionless. 

The boy came reeling forward. He did not see 
them ; he did not know where he was going. His 
eyes were strained at the crude thing that, like 
some savage weapon, protruded from his arm. 
With his other hand he pulled at it, and Harriet 
shuddered as she saw it resist him. Again he 
pulled, and, with a great effort, he yanked it from 
the wound. It was followed by a gush of blood. 
The boy gazed for a moment at the inches of 
crimsoned wood, then cast the stick from him. 
Three more strides he took toward the girls, un- 
til they prepared to avoid him. Then, without a 
word or a groan, he plunged heavily, and fell al- 
most at their feet. 

Two of them screamed and turned to run. 
“Stop!” commanded Harriet. They waited, 
poised for flight, while Harriet looked at the 
boy. 

He was motionless, insensible. The wound in 
the temple was concealed as he lay, but she saw 
that from the injured wrist, lying in the grass. 



“Stand still ! ” commanded Harriet 




I 

/ 

w 


THE STRANGER AGAIN 


27 


were coming regular jets of blood. Immediately 
she dropped on her knees before him. 

^^Your handkerchiefs, girls she cried. But 
she knew that in this emergency handkerchiefs 
were too short and weak. Quickly unbuttoning 
the sleeve of the lad^s outing shirt, with one 
strong pull she tore it open to the shoulder, and 
with two more ripped it from the arm. The blood 
still spurted from the wrist, and behind her the 
girls squealed again. Then rapidly Harriet 
knotted the sleeve round the arm above the wound, 
and gave one end of it to the stronger of 
her friends. ‘^Pull!’’ she directed. At her own 
first pull, she drew the other almost from her 
balance. ‘‘Pull!’’ she commanded impatiently. 
To her relief, at the second pull she saw the blood 
slacken its flow. At the third, it stopped entirely. 
Then she threw the ends again around the arm, 
knotted them securely, and looked up at her 
friends. 

“I can run fastest,” she said. “Will you two 
stay here while I go and get Nate?” 

They looked at each other, hesitating. Like 
silly creatures they blushed, and like foolish ones 
they shuddered. “No,” they agreed. “We 
don’t dare!” 


28 


THE RUNAWAY 


‘‘Then go for Nate quickly she ordered. 
“Both go. Together you ought to find the 
way.’^ 

“Come with us/’ begged one. 

Harriet shook her head. “He mustn’t be left 
alone. If he moves, the knot may slip, and he ’d 
bleed to death. No, go quickly, and try to notice 
how to find your way back.” 

With visible relief, yet fluttered by excitement 
and importance, they left her. Harriet was alone 
in the pasture with the boy. 

Now first she began to feel the strain of the 
event. It was scarcely a minute since she heard 
that startling cry in the bushes, and her nerves 
yet thrilled in response. The excitement of the 
sudden need was still on her. Her heart was 
beating fast; her knees were so weak that with 
relief she sat down on a stone to rest. Presently 
she found herself studying the boy. 

He was so pale that her heart was sore for 
him. She wished for water, to revive him; but 
there was none on that hillside; and so she 
waited, and thought. She had never seen the lad 
before; what kind of a boy was he? The fea- 
tures were clear-cut and, in fact, refined; the 
clothes, though torn, seemed rather to have suf- 


THE STRANGER AGAIN 


29 


fered from the fall than from wear. They were 
fairly new and of good quality. 

Suddenly she remembered the wound in the 
temple, and, rising, went to the boy and turned 
his head. The bleeding had stopped, but the 
flesh was rapidly swelling and darkening from a 
cruel bruise. She put her fingers to it, when, with 
a groan, the boy opened his eyes. 

At sight of her he started and tried to rise. 
He was on his knees, his face red with the effort, 
when once more he turned white, groaned, and 
collapsed again. This time he fell on his back. 
Anxiously Harriet examined the bandage: it had 
not slipped. When she looked at the boy’s face 
again, he was watching her. 

‘Ht is not bleeding,” she said. ‘^How do you 
feel?” 

‘‘Everything swims,” he answered faintly. 
His eyes closed, and so long remained so that she 
feared he had fainted again. But after a while 
he looked at her. 

“Are you in pain?” she asked. 

He shook his head, not in answer, but as if wav- 
ing the question aside. With some difficulty he 
spoke. “Back there where I fell — ^my coat.” 

“Do you want it?” she asked. 


30 


THE RUNAWAY 


His eyes closed wearily, but be nodded. 

Sbe hastened into tbe little wood, and there 
found, at tbe foot of tbe clifP, tbe place of bis fall, 
marked by two large fallen stones, and by a young 
tree quite broken down. There lay bis jacket, and 
sbe carried it back to him. Though be did not 
open bis eyes, sbe felt that be knew sbe bad re- 
turned. 

have it,’^ sbe said. 

Slowly be spoke again. ‘Hn tbe pocket — a wal- 
let.” 

Sbe took it out and held it in her band. ‘^Yes, 
it ^s here.” 

His eyes flew wide open, and be tried to raise 
himself. Failing, be yet commanded her with 
bis glance. He seemed no longer dazed by bis 
fall, but to understand bis situation. He looked 
at her with strangely appealing eyes. Harriet 
was reminded of a wild animal which, when cor- 
nered or trapped, mutely begs for help. But now 
be spoke. 

^‘HonT open it!” 

‘‘Very well,” sbe answered. “What shall I do 
with it?” 

“Keep it for me,” be replied. “DonT let any 
one know you have it.” 


THE STRANGER AGAIN 


31 


She slipped the wallet into the pocket of her 
skirt. ‘‘All right. 

His eyes did not leave her. A desperate kind 
of earnestness was growing in them. Then she 
saw that he was struggling to rise again. He 
lifted his head but an inch before it fell back. 
Quickly she knelt by him and put a hand on his 
chest. “You must lie still!’’ 

He tried to lift his hand — failed — succeeded. 
His eyes implored her. “Hide it!” he gasped. 
“Promise!” 

With a womanly instinct to soothe by comply- 
ing, she also raised a hand. “I promise!” she 
repeated, and felt as if she had taken an oath. 

His hand fell, and he looked his gratitude ; but 
then his eyes closed again. This time she knew 
that he had fainted once more. He lay so still, 
and the silence of the wide pasture so long re- 
mained unbroken, that at last she became anxious. 
Would the others manage to find help? 

It was a mile to Nate’s, and the way might easily 
be missed. And then her own position would be 
hard to find. The cliffs stretched for a long dis- 
tance above the upper end of the pasture, and the 
girls might not be able to tell at what point of 
them she was. When she listened, she heard 


32 


THE RUNAWAY 


nothing but the wind in the trees and the distant 
cawing of the crows. She looked down at the 
town, seemingly so near, and wished that a single 
friend of all that were there below might be here 
at her side. She looked again at the boy. He lay 
as if he were dead. 

Harriet was a girl bred in a gentle household, 
to whom, as yet, life had been made easy. 'Even 
sickness and bereavement, which none can escape, 
so far had passed her by ; and apart from simple 
daily duties, she had had no responsibilities. But 
she was of the kind that learns quickly. As she 
sat here, curbing her impatience, seeing her own 
home below her and yet knowing that it was hope- 
less to wish to bring this injured boy into its shel- 
ter, she had a glimpse of the meaning of patience. 

But at last she heard a hail. ‘‘Harriet, where 
are jeV’ 

She sprang to her feet. “Here!’^ she called. 
“Here, Nate!’’ 

There came in sight a tall and wiry man, look- 
ing, in spite of the fact that he was her father’s 
best dyer, like a woodsman, which, indeed, he 
preferred to be. He came up the hillside with 
long strides, nodded to her briefly, and, gaunt and 
weather-beaten, stood over the unconscious hoy. 


THE STRANGER AGAIN 


33 


^‘Fainted, hez lie T’ lie asked. He dropped on 
his knee, tested the tightness of the bandage, 
nodded once more at Harriet, and then rose again. 

‘^All the better,’’ he remarked. ‘‘He won’t 
mind the travel.” Stooping, he picked np the 
boy as if he were a child, and, cradling him in his 
arms, started downhill as swiftly as if he bore no 
burden. 

“The girls?” asked Harriet, keeping pace with 
him. 

“One I sent for the doctor,” explained Nate. 
“She ’ll telephone from the Upper Cross-Roads. 
The other — she ’s gittin’ the fire an’ heatin’ 
water, since I let the stove out arter gittin’ break- 
fust.” 

He still strode swiftly onward, not pausing in 
the whole of the journey. “Jes’ as easy on the 
legs,” he explained, “an’ a great sight better for 
the arms an’ back if the trip is short.” Harriet, 
carrying the jacket, had to hurry to keep up with 
him, and was glad when they came in sight of the 
little low farm-house in which Nate lived. She 
was equally glad to see, laboring up the road that 
approached from below, the doctor’s carriage. 
Nate reached the house, strode through the open 
door, and laid his burden on a couch. 


34 


THE RUNAWAY 


‘^Thar!’’ he said. 

The lad lay so white and still that fear clutched 
swiftly at Harrietts heart. ‘^He isn’t — dead?” 
she faltered. 

‘‘Lord love ye, no!” answered Nate. “Now 
the best thing you can do is to see if that Joanna 
friend of yours has got the fire goin’ rightly. 
Somehow I mistrust her. I ’m goin’ to put this 
young gentleman to bed while it can’t hurt him.” 

In the kitchen, Harriet found Joanna, flushed 
and vexed. “Oh, I ’ve fussed so over this old 
stove!” she cried. “And it just smolders!” 

“Let me try,” said Harriet. 

She took otf the lid and rearranged the wood; 
she studied the drafts, opened one, closed an- 
other, and then stood listening. The roar of the 
fire answered to the change, and she smiled. 
Harriet was “capable.” 

“Well, I never!” sighed Joanna. 

‘ ‘ There ’s rather too much water in the kettle, ’ ’ 
decided Harriet. “It heats too slowly. I ’ll put 
some of it in this pan, and bring on both the 
faster.” 

Then the third friend, Elinor, joined them, full 
of the importance of her achievement. She had 
got the doctor by telephone, and had made him 


THE STRANGER AGAIN 


35 


come at once. ‘^You know how slow old Doctor 
Fitch is.’’ She had returned with him, making 
him urge his horse. Now he was with Nate. 
They weren’t in the next room any longer, hut 
were in Nate’s own bedroom, just beyond. The 
three girls waited now, listening for sounds from 
the farther room. At a groan, the two girls 
turned pale, and Harriet, biting her lips, covered 
the water in the open pan, that it might heat more 
quickly. It was some minutes before Nate reap- 
peard. With him came the smell of ether. 

‘‘Now, Harriet, if you ’ve got some warm 
water — ” He went back. 

She felt helpless, but thought rapidly. If the 
water was to be but warm, then perhaps it ought 
to be a little warmer than the hand. She had 
noticed a httle pile of coarse, clean towels; per- 
haps a couple would be useful. With the water 
and the towels she went into the bedroom, ex- 
pecting Nate to take them from her. Both he and 
the doctor were busy beside the bed. 

The doctor looked up and nodded. “Right 
here beside me,” he directed. “So. Now stand 
there till I want them.” 

Harriet felt herself turn pale. The motionless 
body lay beneath a sheet, but clear in view was 


36 


THE RUNAWAY 


the dreadful red wrist, with the jagged rent. The 
doctor was too horribly businesslike. Harriet 
wanted to run away. At the sound of a moan, 
she shuddered. 

Nate, with understanding, looked up into the 
girl’s pale face. ‘‘He ain’t rightly conscious,” 
he explained. “But he ’s kinder sensitive, and 
when the doctor tries to sew, why, he tries to 
pull away. So I ’ve got to hold the arm, Har- 
riet, and you — why, you ’ve got to stand by. We 
need you. Don’t mind it if he groans; he don’t 
really feel it.” 

Harriet tried to steady herself. If only these 
things weren’t so terrible! Never had she real- 
ized it before. 

Nate looked at her a moment longer. “Don’t 
look at us,” he directed. “And, Harriet, remem- 
ber your mother. ’ ’ 

The last words helped. Her mother would not 
flinch at such a time. She would he like her 
mother. While the doctor worked, while every 
nerve in her shrank at each groan from the hoy, 
Harriet clenched her teeth upon her lip, forced 
herself to stand still, and silently obeyed each 
order. The strain seemed endless. The doctor’s 
movements were deliberate; the threadings, and 


THE STRANGER AGAIN 


37 


snippings, and tyings, and washings seemed to go 
on forever. Yet it was bnt a scant five minntes 
before the doctor had begun to cover the wound 
with cotton and with gauze. Then Nate, taking 
the basin from Harriet, led her out of the room, 
through the kitchen — ^where the other two looked 
at her in silent awe — and out into the open air. 

^‘Sit down,^’ he said, pointing to a bench that 
stood beside the door. ‘‘Lean your head against 
the house. ’ ’ 

Harriet obeyed. It was a relief to sit down, a 
pleasure to rest her head. Wearily she closed 
her eyes. For a moment, the darkness was shot 
with golden streaks, her ears sang, and she felt 
as if she were falling infinitely far. Was she 
fainting? She felt very cold. Then suddenly her 
brain cleared, the singing stopped, and warmth 
returned to her. She opened her eyes, and, find- 
ing Nate watching her anxiously, was able to 
smile at him. 

^^Thet all right!” he exclaimed with relief. 
“If you went off in a faint, you ’d bother me more 
than the boy. Here, girls. Water for Harriet. 
Keep her sitting here for a while, then go and get 
your horse.” 

“I feel perfectly well,” protested Harriet. 


38 


THE RUNAWAY 


‘‘Don^t waste a thought on me. I ’m all 
right. 

‘^Ten minutes on that bench ordered Nate as 
he went into the house. 

Fifteen minutes later, the girls were saying 
good-by. ‘‘A quiet afternoon to you, Harriet,’’ 
the doctor recommended. ‘‘And don’t worry 
about this youngster. He ’s knocked out, of 
course, and he ’ll be weak. But you saved him, I 
think. ’ ’ He went back to his patient. 

Nate helped the girls into the carriage, and then 
spoke to Harriet. “Your mother ’ll want to come 
up and see about him, of course. I don’t object 
to that, but you tell her from me that she can’t 
take him home with her. I don’t mean to let a 
chap go that ’s chucked right into my arms, and, 
besides, I ’ve taken a fancy to him.” 

The girls jogged slowly homeward. Harriet, 
holding the reins over her old horse, was content 
to let him take his own pace; she did not listen 
to her friends’ chatter, but fell into a study. The 
others, glancing at each other behind her back, 
nodded knowingly and giggled. 

“She’s thinking,” said Joanna, “how good- 
looking he was. ’ ’ 

Harriet, lost in thought, did not hear the silly 


THE STRANGER AGAIN 


39 


remark. In the past hour, she had received ideas 
which her friends were not capable of grasping, 
hut of which she began to see the meaning. The 
mystery of pain, a girPs usefulness, these were in 
her thoughts. 


CHAPTEE III 


A HIDING PLACE 

W HY doesn’t one of you say something!” 
demanded Harriet, impatiently. 

Eeaching home before the lunch hour, she had 
told her story to all the family. As she dwelt on 
its details, her enthusiasm mounted. She de- 
scribed the sound of the fall, the boy’s cry, his 
injury, Nate’s helpfulness. Two things, indeed, 
she did suppress : her own important actions and 
the wallet. But she expected some comment at 
the end, some praise perhaps, but certainly much 
wonderment. Instead, the others all looked at 
each other, and let her finish in silence. 

‘‘What is wrong with you!” cried Harriet. 
Pelham leaned toward her. “Harriet, you ’ve 
told your story. Now will you listen to ours!” 

She stared at him in surprise. He turned to 
Brian. “Will you tell it, or shall I!” 

“I suppose it ’s got to be told,” answered 
Brian. “You tell it.” 

Harriet listened while Pelham told the story of 

40 


A HIDING PLACE 41 

his own adventure. She had come back from 
Nate’s with a warm sympathy for the unlucky 
bpy, hut at Pelham’s description of the lad whom 
he and Brian had met, she slowly grew cold with 
dismay. It was surely the same boy. Then the 
wallet ! 

Bob, her oldest brother, nodded cheerfully. 
‘‘He got pretty well come up with, the young 
criminal.” 

In spite of her dismay, Harriet started indig- 
nantly. There rose before her eyes the face of 
the stranger, strangely appealing in its half wild- 
ness. “Oh!” she cried, “he ’s not a criminal!” 

Bob smiled at her as older brothers do. ‘ ‘ Then 
what about Brian’s money!” 

Doubt crept over her. After all, the others 
must be right. Tears started to her eyes. 

Her mother drew her down beside her on the 
window-seat. “Sometimes, dear,” she said, “we 
have to believe such things. ’ ’ 

Harriet’s face burned. Within her skirt she 
felt an unaccustomed lump which she recognized 
as the wallet. What was she to do! 

Brian cleared his throat. “I think, Uncle Eob- 
ert,” he began, “that I — that we — That is, I 
think the wallet had better be forgotten. I came 


42 


THE RUNAWAY 


upon the boy suddenly. He may not have real- 
ized that the wallet — that I was asking him to 
give it to me. It was my fault. I ’d just like to 
drop the whole matter.’’ 

‘^But we can get it from him now,” said Mr. 
Dodd. 

Harriet had clutched at her dress. Ought she 
to give the wallet up? 

Brian spoke again, still hesitatingly. — I ’d 

like to have nothing said about it. Perhaps the 
boy was poor.” 

Mr. Dodd smiled. ‘‘That gives him no claim 
to your money.” 

“I feel,” Brian explained, “somehow as if I 
had something to do with this accident of his. 
As if he thought we were still following him, and 
so slipped and fell. I ’d like to make him a pres- 
ent of the money.” 

Mr. Dodd considered. “Well,” he said pres- 
ently, “he can’t get away from us. When I tele- 
phoned the doctor just now, he said that among 
other injuries the lad seems to have a sprained 
ankle. He must stay here for a while, then. If 
he ’s treated well, his conscience may work.” 

“You know, sir,” still persisted Brian, “some 
fellows think they may keep anything they find. ’ ’ 


A HIDING PLACE 


43 


said Mr. Dodd, ‘‘for the present I will 
say nothing to him about it. But in the mean- 
time — ’’ He drew out his own pocket-hook and 
took from it a five-dollar hill. 

Brian flushed scarlet. ‘ ‘ Oh, no, sir ! ’ ’ 

“Nonsense,’’ said his uncle. “Brian, I want 
you to take it. Five dollars is a whole month’s 
allowance. Besides, I feel responsible for the 
loss, in a way.” 

Harriet’s heart had been warming toward 
Brian. His forgiveness pleased her, especially 
when it enabled her to think better of the stranger. 
Brian’s willingness to lose the money seemed 
very generous. Further, although she knew that 
when a boy objects to receiving money from an 
older relative he is seldom really unwilling, she 
now saw Brian, red to the ears, take the money 
with genuine reluctance. She nodded her ap- 
proval. 

Bob, who had subsided into a newspaper, now 
came suddenly out of it. “Are you people 
through with this question of ethics, so that I may 
throw some more light on this matter?” 

“Go ahead,” said his father. 

“Have you considered,” inquired Bob, “how 
this young highwayman — excuse me, Harriet, this 


44 


THE RUNAWAY 


knight-errant — happens to be traveling across 
wild country in this casual manner?’’ 

They all looked at each other. None of them 
had yet thought of this. Bob took up his paper 
again. ‘‘Listen,” he said. “This is to-day’s pa- 
per, and I find an account of what happened yes- 
terday on the railroad about ten miles north of 
us, on the stretch between Winton and Farnham. ’ ’ 
He began to read from the newspaper. 

“Boy disappears from train, and is not recovered. — 
Yesterday afternoon disappeared from train number 12, 
on the Worcester and North Adams branch of the B. & 
M. R.R., between Winton and Farnham, a boy of fif- 
teen years. He was traveling with an older brother, 
W. L. Wilson, a New York business man, who was 
greatly agitated at the disappearance. It seems that on 
the long stretch between these towns, the older brother 
was playing whist in the smoking-car, when the boy, 
complaining of the air, got permission to go to the next 
car. Since then he has not been seen. It was at first 
supposed that, being dizzy from the close atmosphere 
of the smoking-car, he had fallen from the platform of 
the train. Wilson, together with a foreman and three 
men of a section gang, traveled the whole distance back 
to Winton on a hand-car, keeping a most careful watch 
for the boy, no trace of whom was found. No other 
train had passed over the road, a single-track division, 
in the interval, and at first it seemed impossible to 


A HIDING PLACE 


45 


account for his disappearance. Wilson then acknowl- 
edged that he and his brother had recently quarreled, and 
that the lad might have run away in a fit of temper. 
The conductor states that about seven miles out of Win- 
ton the train slowed up sufficiently for an active boy to 
jump from the step without danger. Had he walked 
back to Winton, a junction, he might have taken the 
train for New York, which left shortly before the older 
brother's return. No one recollected seeing a boy of the 
description, but Wilson, acting upon the theory, and de- 
claring that he knew where his brother would naturally 
go, took the first train to New York. There is another 
theory: that the boy was drowned in one of the three 
ponds over which the railroad passes.’’ 

Bob looked up. ‘‘Perhaps,^’ he said, ‘^we can 
now form a third theory of our own. There is a 
spiteful young brother for you, to do so much to 
make trouble for an honest and well-meaning, 
though perhaps unduly strict, older brother.’’ 

‘‘How do you know so much about him?” de- 
manded Harriet. 

“Because,” answered Bob, “though you your- 
self have not yet discovered it, all older brothers 
are honest and well-meaning. Even their strict- 
ness arises from the kindly desire to save unfor- 
tunate youngsters from mistakes which the elder 
has already committed and repented of. Now, 


46 


THE RUNAWAY 


shall we wire to this Mr. Wilson of New 

Yorkr’ 

cried Harriet, ‘‘we can’t be sure that 
this is the same boy?” 

Mr. Dodd rose. “The boy himself shall decide 
that. My dear,” he said to his wife, “we ’d bet- 
ter drive to Nate’s after dinner and see the lad. 
Meanwhile, dinner is waiting.” 

Through dinner, the wallet weighed like lead in 
Harriet’s pocket. It seemed to her as if every 
one must know that she had it. Her mother re- 
marked on her lack of appetite, and noticed, with- 
out speaking of it, her absent-mindedness. But 
both of these characteristics were natural after 
such an experience as Harriet’s, and Mrs. Dodd, 
careful mother though she was, did not suspect 
what further the girl might have on her mind. 

Harriet was trying to decide what she ought to 
do. On the one hand, she had promised to tell 
no one of the wallet; but on the other, there was 
the fact, which she could not deny, that the wallet 
had been — no, not stolen from Brian, but found 
and kept. WTiile her father had been giving 
Brian the money, Harriet had been obstinately 
silent, trying to find some way in which to keep 
her promise; but the longer she thought of the 


A HIDING PLACE 47 

matter the more firmly she became convinced that 
she must tell. 

‘‘I will tell Mother ahont it immediately after 
lunch, she decided. 

But luncheon was no sooner finished, with Har- 
riet watching for a chance of a talk with her 
mother, than Mr. Dodd said to his wife, ‘^Come, 
dear. The horse is waiting.’^ 

‘‘Where are you going?’’ cried Harriet. 

“To Nate’s,” answered her mother. “We 
want to see how the boy is.” 

In spite of her disappointment, Harriet looked 
at her mother gratefully. Mrs. Dodd, a very 
handsome woman for all her forty-five years, had 
more than her good looks wherewith to claim her 
daughter’s admiration. She was quick to do 
good; Nate had judged her well when he foresaw 
this visit. Harriet gave her Nate’s message: she 
might see the boy, but was not to expect to take 
him away. 

“Very well,” laughed Mrs. Dodd. With her 
husband she departed. 

Bob had gone to the mill. Harriet, left alone 
with Brian and. Pelham, thanked her cousin for 
giving up his claim to the money. “It was very 
good of you,” she said. 


48 


THE RUNAWAY 


‘^Good of him/’ echoed Pelham. tell you, 
Harriet, that ’s what I call ‘going some.’ ” 

Brian sprang to his feet. “Confound you, Pel- 
ham,” he cried. “Hold your jaw!” He went 
quickly out of the room. 

“Snappy, isn’t he?” asked Pelham. 

But with her mind still full of Brian’s gener- 
osity, Harriet saw nothing unnatural in his tem- 
per. “He doesn’t like to he praised,” she said. 
And Pelham returning no answer, she sat think- 
ing. 

It seemed to her that her course was clear. 
The wallet was not, perhaps, stolen — that is, not 
in the ordinary sense of the word. Yet in an- 
other sense stolen it was, and the injured hoy, in 
making her promise to keep it secret, was really 
making her aid him in keeping it from its right- 
ful owner. The act was unfair. No promise 
could hold which was made under such circum- 
stances. Of course, now that she knew that Brian 
really owned the wallet, she was free to return it 
to him. 

Impulsively she sprang to her feet to follow 
him. One moment’s regret she had, as she 
thought of the appealing gaze of the fainting boy; 
hut she dismissed it. One more thing she had 


A HIDING PLACE 


49 


learned: she must be careful where she trusted. 
Then she began to hunt for Brian. 

He had not gone up-stairs, and a look out of 
the window showed her that he was not in the 
front garden. Probably he was in the big garden 
behind the house, and as the shortest way was 
through the kitchen, that way she took. 

To her surprise, in the kitchen she found Brian 
standing alone. He was by the stove, with one 
hand in his pocket, and with the other gingerly 
endeavoring to manage the lid-lifter. Amused, 
Harriet thought of a line from an old saga, and 
she quoted it : 

‘^What, lad, are you taking to cooking T’ 

Brian started, dropped the lifter with a clatter, 
snatched his hand from his pocket, and turned 
from her. His face reddened deeply, and Har- 
riet was surprised. 

‘ ^ I did n T mean to startle you, ’ ’ she said. She 
added mischievously. ‘‘The cookies are in the 
pantry.’’ 

“Oh, come now, Harriet,” protested Brian. 
“You know I ’m too old to go hunting for 
cookies.” 

It occurred to her to wonder what he was doing 
there, but she put the question aside. “Come 


50 


THE RUNAWAY 


into the garden/’ she said, ‘‘before Bridget finds 
ns and drives us out. She won’t allow any one 
here unless she ’s in a good temper.” 

The flush slowly faded from Brian’s cheeks. 
“Come on, then,” he said. Into the garden the 
two went together, and there she thought to find a 
chance to give the wallet to him. 

It was a large garden, with paths wandering 
here and there among shrubs and flower clumps. 
Harriet’s mother had taught her to love the work 
of gardening, and this place was to her a resort of 
peace and friendliness. It was very natural, 
therefore, to expect soon to be speaking confi- 
dentially with Brian. 

But he talked so that she could find no chance. 
Though his blush was gone, his embarrassment 
seemed to remain. Harriet thought that he was 
talking to cover it. He rattled on about unim- 
portant matters; and though Harriet waited for 
him to speak of the most natural subject of all, 
their adventures with the stranger, he did not men- 
tion it. 

Harriet tried to bring him to it. “Wasn’t it 
odd,” she asked, “that that boy should come out 
of the woods just where I was?” 

“Perfectly natural,” answered Brian. He 


A HIDING PLACE 51 

stooped to examine a flower. ‘^What do you call 
this thing r’ 

‘‘Why,’’ exclaimed Harriet, “I thought that 
even city boys knew roses ! ’ ’ 

“Of course,” he answered with a little irrita- 
tion. “I meant what kind.” 

“A tea-rose,” she answered. “Those just be- 
yond are the hyhrid-perpetuals, and over that arch 
is the Dorothy Perkins. The hybrid teas are just 
beyond it.” 

“Great garden this,” remarked Brian. “Do 
you know, the land you have in this garden, if 
placed on Fifth Avenue, would probably be worth 
a million?” 

“If you ’d take it and put it there, I ’d let you 
have it for half a million.” 

Brian looked at her, surprised. Younger girls 
did not usually poke fun at him. Then he 
laughed. “Good!” he exclaimed, but half-heart- 
edly. “You country folk come back at a fellow 
sometimes. ’ ’ 

Harriet tried to break into his train of thought. 
“Brian.” 

“H-m, great garden,” mused Brian, moving 
along as he spoke, so that she was forced to fol- 
low. “All kinds of things you ’ve got.” 


52 


THE RUNAWAY 


^ ‘ Everything we want, ’ ’ she replied. Then she 
made her effort. Brian, that wallet — ’’ 

He turned to her quickly, and his face was red 
again. ‘^Now don’t you begin on that,” he said 
roughly. ‘ ‘ Did n ’t you hear me tell Pelham to let 
it alone!” 

<<Why, Brian!” she cried, surprised and hurt. 

He turned. ‘‘Just cut that out entirely,” he 
said curtly, over his shoulder, as he walked away. 

Now Harriet, being no saint, felt her cheeks 
grow hot. No one before had ever spoken 
to her like that. Harriet usually pleased people, 
for most of them recognized her good sense and 
her good intentions. In the town she was well 
liked; at home her brothers did nothing worse 
than tease her. Not even cousinship, she felt, en- 
titled Brian to speak so to her. Quite indignant, 
she turned and hastened toward the house. 

Then she began to reflect. Perhaps she had 
spoken unkindly. She could not know why he 
should he sensitive on the subject — ^yet boys were 
so queer! And if he were sensitive, then, per- 
haps, she had hurt his feelings. She slackened 
her pace. Ought she to apologize ! Perhaps she 
ought. With a generous impulse she turned back, 
and hastened after Brian. 


A HIDING PLACE 


53 


She could not find him at first among the wind- 
ings of the paths, where here and there shrubs 
grew large. But presently she turned a corner 
and came upon him. To her surprise he was just 
rising from a stooping position, and was dusting 
off his hands as if he had been gardening. The 
earth before him, well in from the border, had 
just been disturbed. She remembered that this 
was the place where her mother had ordered a 
late seeding of asters. Now to Harriet a seedbed 
was as sacred as Bridget’s kitchen. 

She was too indignant to notice that he started 
quite violently, and flushed to his very hair. 
‘^Just weeding,” he exclaimed confusedly. 

‘‘Oh, please don’t touch anything in the gar- 
den,” she cried. “You can’t be sure that you 
haven’t pulled up a flowering plant. What was 
it you took out 1 ’ ’ 

“I don’t know,” mumbled Brian. “I threw it 
behind me. Here, I ’ll help you find it. ’ ’ 

But though for a minute they looked carefully, 
nothing resembling a plant was found on the 
smooth walk or the carefully raked beds. 

“I hope it wasn’t important,” said Brian. 

She looked again at the seed-bed. “I suppose 
it wasn’t,” she admitted. “Now I think of it, I 


54 


THE RUNAWAY 


don’t see why there should be either a weed or a 
plant there. John sowed aster seed there yes- 
terday, and he does n’t usually leave weeds where 
he has been working.” 

^‘Well, he did this time,” retorted Brian, ab- 
ruptly. 

<<Why, Brian,” she cried, ‘‘I didn’t mean to 
doubt you.” 

He lowered at her. ‘‘And if your old seeds 
have n’t sprouted, then I could n’t hurt them any- 
way. You need n’t have been so stuffy about it.” 

Harriet felt that she had been rude. “I ’m 
afraid we ’re rather fussy about the garden,” she 
murmured weakly. 

“Well,” declared Brian, “you needn’t fret any 
more. I ’ll never touch a thing in your garden 
again.” He turned and left her. 

Greatly depressed, Harriet went slowly back to 
the house. Once she thought of the wallet. “I ’ll 
give it to Father or Mother,” she thought. Pel- 
ham had disappeared from the living-room, the 
piano was no solace in her present mood, and she 
sat and read fitfully among the magazines until 
the sound of wheels on the driveway told her that 
her father and mother had returned. She met 
them at the door just as Pelham and Brian, ap- 


A HIDING PLACE 55 

pearing from different quarters, joined them 
also. 

^‘What did yon learn T’ demanded Pelham. 

‘‘Nothing,’^ answered Mr. Dodd, briefly. 

‘‘Did you ask about the wallet inquired 
Brian. 

Mr. Dodd shook his head. “Mary, you tell 
them,’’ he said to his wife. “I am going to tele- 
phone. ’ ’ He went to the library and shut himself 
in. The three looked their inquiries at Mrs. 
Dodd. 

“The boy is ill,” she explained. “He is lying 
in a fever, and is not able to talk. ’ ’ 

“Sick!” exclaimed Brian, scornfully. “Just 
from a fall!” 

Harriet checked her retort. Her mother re- 
proved Brian gently. “A blow on the head, a 
deep cut in the arm, a sprained ankle, and much 
loss of blood are enough for most people. Be- 
sides, we all think, from the looks of his clothes, 
that he got wet in the woods yesterday, perhaps by 
blundering into a swamp. And he slept out with- 
out any covering. The doctor says it may mean 
pneumonia. ’ ’ 

Harriet sat down. The news made her feel 
weak. Before he fell, had he already been feel- 


56 


THE RUNAWAY 


ing faint and sick? If he shonld die, what then 
would be her duty concerning the wallet? For as 
the face of the boy rose before her, and she saw 
his very eyes, earnest and appealing, she felt 
again that he must be honest. 

She heard the boys and her mother talking, but 
could not listen to what they said. Her problem 
absorbed her. Was her promise binding? She 
sat thinking until her father joined them again. 

‘Ht ’s puzzling,’’ he said. ’ve been tele- 
phoning the station-master at Winton. He says 
that the matter of the disappearance yesterday 
is very clear to him. The older brother was in 
the greatest distress so long as he believed that 
the boy had fallen from the train; but when it 
was clear that no body was to be found, then he 
seemed certain that his brother had run away. 
All he wanted then was to follow him quickly to 
New York. He refused to give any address, and 
they haven’t heard from him since.” 

^‘How about dragging the ponds?” asked Pel- 
ham. 

<< There aren’t any ponds along the route,” an- 
swered Mr. Dodd. ‘^That was some reporter’s 
foohshness. Until he heard from me, the station- 
master supposed that the man had found his 


A HIDING PLACE 


57 


brother. And really, when yon think of it, that 
is the natural conclusion. There is nothing to 
prove that this boy is that boy.” 

^^What are you going to do!” asked his wife. 

‘^Nothing at all,” answered Mr. Dodd. ^‘The 
station-master at Winton knows all there is to 
know, and if Wilson comes back, will send him 
over here. Meanwhile, the boy canT get away.” 
He turned to the door. 

‘‘Father,” said Harriet, rising. 

“Not now, dear,” he said. “I am driving your 
mother down to the store, and must hurry to the 
mill. We dl be back before supper.” 

Harriet, after watching her father and mother 
drive away, went slowly to her room. The wallet 
still weighed heavily in her pocket, and she 
wanted to be rid of it, at least until she could talk 
the matter over with her parents. She shut her- 
self carefully into her chamber. In her part of 
the house she knew that there was no one. Yet 
it was with caution that she took the wallet from 
her pocket, listened for a while, and then go- 
ing nearer to the light, looked at the cause of her 
troubles. 

Then, with a start, she studied it eagerly, ttirn- 
ing it over and over. It was a large wallet, and 


58 


THE RUNAWAY 


a long one too, made of good leather that had 
withstood much wear. It was stuffed with some- 
thing, but she did not open it. On one side, she 
saw faint impressions where once gilt letters had 
been stamped; a few tiny glittering spots were 
still adhering. Though she carefully turned the 
wallet to and from the light, Harriet could read 
nothing. 

Yet she began to smile. ‘^Now,^^ she asked 
aloud, where shall I put itV’ As she looked 
around the room, she realized how little real pri- 
vacy she had there. Not only she herself, but 
also her mother and an old family servant con- 
stantly went to her bureau, bringing her clothes 
from the laundry or the sewing-room. Harriet 
saw no place in her chamber where she could hide 
the wallet. 

A glance out of the window showed her Pelham 
and Brian on the tennis-court. Feeling safe 
from interruption by them, she went to the up- 
stairs writing-room, which was nothing else than 
the old nursery. Here stood her desk and Pel- 
ham’s, where in school-time they studied in the 
evening. To her desk she went. 

It was an old one. Harriet was very proud of 
its swell front, its claw feet, its brass handles. 



l: 

A glance out of the window showed Pelham and Brian on the 

tennis-court 



\ 


A HIDING PLACE 


61 


and the beautiful dark wood. But now she was 
thinking of something else. In the center of its 
row of pigeonholes was a wide space for her ink- 
stand, and flanking this space were two little col- 
umns, looking like decorations set against wide 
partitions. Grasping one of these by its square 
capital, Harriet pulled at it. Pillar and partition 
both drew out, and Harriet had what she wanted. 
The partition was nothing else than a long and 
tall and very thin box, open at the back. Into it 
Harriet pushed the wallet, which fitted tightly. 
She thrust the box back into its place in the 
desk. 

As she turned away, she had one doubt. Ought 
she not to tie up the wallet in paper? But no. 
No one would find it, for no one but herself went 
to her desk. Even supposing it were to be found, 
no one would look at it. Satisfied, Harriet went 
away. 

When her father returned, he called for her. 
‘^WasnT there something, Harriet, that you 
wanted to ask me?’^ 

^‘Nothing now. Father, she answered. ‘‘I Ve 
settled it myself.’’ 


CHAPTEE IV 


THE PKOBLEM 

S LOWLY the haze was clearing from his mind. 

He was lying — surely he was lying upon a 
bed. To his weak vision appeared near by, now 
almost clear, and again perplexingly shadowy, 
the walls of a room. A dim light seemed to sug- 
gest a curtained window, or perhaps evening. 
From outdoors he heard the note of a bird, and 
there was wafted to him a faint odor of earthy 
things. Gathering a little resolution, he knitted 
his brows and looked about him. It was hard to 
turn his head. As he swept his gaze slowly about, 
he saw a room almost bare, simply furnished, and 
very clean. A chair and a bureau teetered in a 
strange manner; yet when he frowned a little 
harder, they stood still. 

What was that odd white thing in the air not 
far above the bed? A square white thing it 
seemed, wavering sidewise and then back again. 
He frowned at it. Was it hanging from the ceil- 
ing? Ah, he saw I A stick, thrust into the bed 
62 


THE PROBLEM 


63 


at the foot, was holding it toward him. Yes, and 
there were letters on it. But frown as he would, 
they wavered and faded away. And so did he; 
he felt himself shpping away in sleep, and was 
very glad to go. 

Later, he could not say how long, he came out 
of his doze, and again began to fix his attention 
upon the square white thing. A kind of sign, 
was it? He saw it better now. Why should it be 
above his bed? What did it say? He looked and 
puzzled, and finally the letters took form: 

DON’T TBY TO GET UP.” 

There were more words, hut his attention wan- 
dered. The room seemed brighter now, as if the 
sun shone on the window, wherever the window 
might be. Probably at his back. That was best 
for sick folks. 

Was he a sick folk? Why else was he lying 
on his back, with some heavy thing, doubtless a 
bandage, on his head ? Why else was that ridicu- 
lous sign hanging over his head? What more did 
it say? Again he knitted his brows, and this time 
he read : 


‘HE YOU WANT ME, BING.” 


64 


THE RUNAWAY 


If he wanted whom? Why ring? Oh, yes, if 
he wanted him, ring. But how? Was there a 
button to push anywhere? 

Again he faded away into sleep, and again, 
after an interval, he came to himself. Once more 
the light was different in the room; the sun lay 
along the floor. It must be late afternoon. And 
that absurd sign was still there — ‘‘If you want 
me, ring.’’ But how could he ring? And who 
was this mysterious Me? 

As he wondered, he became aware of a sound, 
which he somehow knew had been continuing 
from the first. It was like the noise of machin- 
ery, and yet was unlike. At any rate, it was an 
irregular, creaky, jumpy kind of machinery. It 
continued monotonously on and on; it was, he 
reflected, a pretty soothing kind of noise to sleep 
to. And then a new sound came to his ears: a 
cheerful and yet a thoughtful whistle. A man’s 
whistle — a boy would not whistle so thoughtfully. 

He lay and listened for a while. Now the 
whistle sounded, now it ceased, now it began 
again. Though it was a thoughtful whistle, it 
was a contented one ; it had, moreover, something 
to do with the machinery. Was Me working over 
the machine? 


THE PROBLEM 


65 


Slowly there grew a desire to see this whistling 
person. ‘‘If you want me, ring.” But again, 
how ring"? Around the room was nothing to be 
seen, no button and no bell handle. But what was 
that blurred thing close overhead! A good frown 
now, a close squint! He made the effort. The 
blurred thing took shape. It was a hanging 
rope. 

He tried to raise a hand. It would not come. 
Something held it down; a weight, not a ban- 
dage. He tried to wiggle the fingers, and found 
that they also were held. And lift the hand he 
could not. Was the other hand in the same fix! 
He tried. Slowly the hand came up, groped, 
found the rope, and gripped it. He pulled. 
From a distance came a tinkle. The whistling 
ceased. Something jarred, and the machinery 
stopped its thudding. A voice called: “Jest a 
jiffy!” 

The boy smiled faintly. He felt far removed 
from himself, and not really concerned with the 
smile; still, the voice was cheerful, and it was 
pleasant to hear. But in a moment he forgot all 
about it, and was surprised to see a figure at his 
bedside. It recalled him from the beginning of 
another sleep. Why was the man bowing and 


66 


THE RUNAWAY 


jigging so? He frowned, waked himself again, 
and the figure stood still. 

The man was tall and lean, bronzed and active. 
Keen eyes smiled down at the lad, and a hard 
but not ungentle hand was laid upon the forehead. 
‘ ‘ H-m ! ’ ^ said the man. ^ ‘ Better, ain T ye ? ’ ’ 

think so.’’ To himself, the boy’s voice 
sounded as if it came from another room. 

‘‘Well,” said his nurse, “I ’ve been expecting 
your arrival any time to-day. The broth is 
warm — I ’ll bring ye some.” 

Presently the boy found himself accepting 
spoonfuls of an appetizing liquid, which slipped 
down easily. “More,” he said, when the supply 
ceased. 

The man shook his head. “Enough ’s enough. 
Now, are ye comfortable?” 

The boy struggled with his ideas. “I ’ve 
been — sick?” 

‘ ‘ Rather. ’ ’ 

“There ’s a bandage on my head?” 

“We ’ll have that off to-morrow.” 

“What ’s wrong with my hand?” 

“Another bandage.” 

“Something happened to me?” 

“Look here,” said his nurse; “the doctor said 


THE PROBLEM 


67 


you ^re not to talk. Jes^ lie still, won’t 
you!” 

‘‘But I don’t remember — ” 

“Don’t try.” 

The boy nodded and said no more, but lay still. 
Drowsiness came, and be wilbngly yielded to it. 

For another day continued periods of sleep- 
ing and waking. He was visited, fed, and grew 
stronger. But he asked no more questions about 
himself. Still another day went by, and even 
when the doctor came and examined his wrist, the 
lad asked no questions about it. On the third 
day, in the middle of the morning, he waked from 
a doze to see three persons by his bed. One was 
the doctor, one his nurse, Nate, and the third 
was a stranger. 

Nate bent over the bed. “Here ’s Mr. Dodd, 
come to see you.” 

Mr. Dodd, stocky and grizzled, and quite as 
keen of gaze as Nate, sat down beside the bed. 
“How do you do this morning, Wilson!” he 
asked. 

The boy seemed surprised. He looked at Nate. 

‘ ‘ Is that my name ! ’ ’ 

“Isn’t it?” asked Nate. “We thought it 


68 


THE RUNAWAY 


The boy shook his head, and looked again at Mr. 
Dodd. doesnT sound right.’’ 

“Does anything sound right?” asked Mr. 
Dodd. 

The lad knit his brow in thought, but the doc- 
tor interposed. “Don’t worry him,” he said 
briskly. “My boy, we waked you from a nap. 
You ’d better finish it.” He turned away from 
the bedside, and the others followed him into the 
next room. There for a moment their voices 
murmured faintly ; but when the three became in- 
terested, and forgot caution, the sounds floated 
clearly to him. 

“Then you’d rather. Doctor, that we didn’t 
ask him about himself?” 

“I ’d rather,” replied the doctor, “that he 
was n’t urged to try to remember. A question, 
carelessly put, might perhaps be asked once in a 
while. If he has lost his memory, from the blow 
on his head, or fever, or both, it is probably only 
temporarily. Since the first day, he hasn’t 
asked about himself, and doesn’t seem to think 
of how he came here. Let him alone. He ’ll 
come' to himself gradually.” 

“The name Wilson did n’t seem to suggest any- 
thing to him.” 



“How do you do tliis morning, Wilson?” Mr. Dodd asked 






THE PROBLEM 


71 


‘‘If his memory ’s lost, it wouldn’t, even if it 
were his name. But you must consider that this 
may not be the hoy that got off the train. It ’s 
ten days ago, and the man Wilson hasn’t been 
heard from. He ’s found his brother, I .’m con- 
vinced. ’ ’ 

“Yet somebody must be worrying about this 
lad.” 

“True,” admitted the doctor. “Btit equally 
true that no boy is reported missing. Since no 
one is inquiring about him, what can we do but 
wait? Would you advertise?” 

“ ‘Found, a boy!’ ” laughed the other. “No, 
they know all about the lad over at Farnham and 
Winton, and can tell about him to any one that 
inquires. On the other hand, if the newspapers 
report the loss of a boy, we shall see it. — But 
with the boy himself what shall we do ? ” 

‘ ‘ Feed him, nurse him, let him come to himself. 
If his memory is wrong, don’t appear to worry 
about it, or you ’ll worry him. Let him see your 
son and your nephew — the sight of them may 
bring him to himself. Another thing — let him see 
Harriet. ’ ’ 

“Well — ” Mr. Dodd was doubtful. 

“She says they spoke together,” explained the 


72 


THE RUNAWAY 


doctor. ‘‘She brought him his coat. To see her 
may be just enough to start him thinking.’^ 
“We T1 try the boys first, said Mr. Dodd. 
“Certainly,’’ agreed the doctor. “Now just 
let me run in and take a last look at the lad, Mr. 
Dodd, and then we ’ll go back. ’ ’ 

In a moment, he came tiptoeing from the room. 
“Asleep.” 

But when the doctor’s carriage had gone, car- 
rying Mr. Dodd, and when the thumping of Nate’s 
machinery had begun, the boy in the chamber 
opened his eyes. His bed had been moved so 
that he could look out of the window, and now he 
lay gazing into the landscape, while his brow 
was thoughtfully knit. 


CHAPTER V 


THE BOYS MEET AGAIN 

I T was three days later, and the lad had just 
had his breakfast. He was at last able to 
feed himself, although clumsily, having but one 
good hand. When he had finished, he lay back 
on his pillows and looked at Nate. 

’ve never asked,’’ he said, ‘‘what is the work 
I hear you doing.” 

“Now you’re talking!” exclaimed Nate. 
“It ’s nice to have you show interest. — ^You know 
the mills down in the valley?” 

“Yes,” answered the lad. “I hear their whis- 
tle four times a day.” 

“Well,” explained Nate, “they make cordyroy, 
velvet, and plush. Now I do some of their dyein’. 
That machine you hear, she runs my jigger.” 
“Jigger?” asked the lad. 

“My dyein’ machine,” said Nate. “I ’ll show 
it to you soon. You ’ll be movin’ about before 
long.” 


73 


74 


THE RUNAWAY 


‘‘I can get ont of bed to-day/’ answered tbe 
boy. ‘‘I Ve been living on yon long enough. 
It ’s time I was — ^moving on. ’ ’ 

Nate, who was about to go away with the break- 
fast dishes, turned and set them down upon the 
bureau. Then he came and stood beside the bed, 
looking attentively at the boy. 

Meaning r’ he asked. 

The boy returned his gaze firmly. must be 
going.” 

‘^All right,” said Nate, with sudden willing- 
ness. ‘‘Here, I ’ll help you.” 

The boy’s eyes flew wide open with surprise; 
then, slowly flushing, he let them drop. “I 
know,” he mumbled, “that I ’ve been a lot of 
trouble — and expense. But I mean to repay it.” 

“Don’t mention it,” responded Nate, heartily. 
“You ’re welcome, I ’m sure. But I don’t like to 
keep fellers in my house that don’t want to stay. 
Corpe, let me help you up.” 

The boy looked at him first suspiciously, and 
then, as Nate met his look steadily, with a touch of 
resentment. “How do you know that I don’t 
want to stay?” he demanded. 

“You said you wanted to go,” replied Nate, 
undisturbed. “Come — up she goes!” 


THE BOYS MEET AGAIN 


75 


He lifted tlie lad’s shoulders as he spoke, and 
turned him in bed. Clumsily the hoy swung his 
feet out of the bed, found the floor, and slowly 
rose. He stood for a moment, apparently asking 
himself if he were steady, and then took a step 
forward. But instantly he cried out, and had not 
Nate caught him, would have fallen. 

Nate lifted him, laid him in bed, and covered 
him over. Then he looked at him quizzically. 
‘‘Goin’ far?” 

‘‘My ankle ’s hurt!” exclaimed the boy. 

“Of course,” answered Nate. “What for do 
I rub it three times a day? Clean dislocated 
when we got you home. But don’t fret. It ’s 
almost back to its natural size, and before long 
you can hobble about. I ’ve made a crutch for 
ye.” 

Turning his face aside, the lad closed his eyes ; 
but from under their lids trickled two tears. 

“There, there!” soothed Nate, kindly. “Stick 
it out! It won’t he very much longer.” 

“I thought,” said the hoy, huskily, “that you 
wanted to get rid of me.” 

“Jumpin’ Jehoshaphat!” cried Nate. “I 
thought the same of you. Well, then, ain’t we 
square ? ’ ’ 


76 


THE RUNAWAY 


The boy nodded. But then he murmured; ‘‘I 
ought to be going. 

‘ ‘ Where demanded Nate. 

Still with his eyes closed, the boy shook his 
head. ‘‘Just going.’’ 

Nate sat down upon the side of the bed. “I 
s’pose you ’ve got an appointment somewhere, or 
with some one. Can’t I send for him to come to 
you?” 

“No,” said the other. “It isn’t that.” 

“You ’re restless, of course,” soothed Nate. 
“But take it easy for a time longer. It ’ll pay 
in the end.” 

The boy showed a little vexation. “I ’ve got 
to.” 

“Never spoke truer,” agreed Nate. “Settle to 
it, then.” He took up his tray and turned to go, 
then turned back once more. “Say,” he asked, 
“what shall I call you?” 

The boy’s eyes flew open, but he did not look 
at Nate. Doubt showed on his forehead. He 
looked out of the window, and slowly shook his 
head. 

“I mean,” asked Nate, “can’t we jes^ make 
up a name between us, for convenience? I don’t 


THE BOYS MEET AGAIN 


77 


want to say ^Here, you,’ or ^Say.’ S ’posin’ we 
call you Jack, or Jim.” 

The hoy spoke in a voice low, but clear. ^^Call 
me Eodman.” 

‘^Good,” agreed Nate, heartily. ‘‘Might be a 
fust name, or a last. If ever you think up an- 
other name to go behind it, or in front, jes’ let 
me know. We can use the combination for your 
postoflSce address. Good-by — Eodman.” 

In a half-hour, Nate came back, carrying an 
armful of clothes. “Might as well get up,” he 
said. “It ’ll be more cheerful than lyin’ here.” 
He assisted Eodman to dress, and then brought 
him a crutch. “Thar,” he said, “thet crutch is 
lighter an’ stronger than anythin’ you ’ll find in 
the stores. And now, young man, hobble!” 

Eodman looked about him as he went. The 
next room was a kind of sitting-room, with a desk 
in one comer. Next was a little kitchen. An 
open door beyond showed the interior of a shed in 
which were bands and pulleys above a square tub 
that stood in the middle of the fioor. “The work- 
shop,” explained Nate, waving his hand in that 
direction. “But we ’ll go outside.” 

Out on the grass stood a chair on which Eod- 


78 


THE RUNAWAY 


man^s attention immediately fastened. It was 
shaped like a lounge, and was intended to hold 
the sitter in a half-reclining position. It was 
made of natural wood, the frame being of un- 
peeled sticks skilfully bent, and the back and seat 
of thin strips of wood, with the bark on, cleverly 
woven together. 

‘‘Good, ain’t it?” asked Nate, frankly. “I 
made it myself.” 

Rodman looked at the chair. “It looks com- 
fortable,” he agreed. “But it ’s quite new.” 

“Certainly,” said Nate. “I thought you ’d 
need one. It ’s better than store chairs — fits 
your back better.” 

Slowly, carefully, the boy sat down. He lifted 
his leg into position, and settled himself so as to 
put no strain on the ankle. But all the time, 
though he said nothing, his face was working. 
And again two tears stood on his cheeks. 

“Cheerfully!” warned Nate. 

Rodman looked up into his face. “You do a 
great deal for me. And I ’m a perfect stranger 
to you.” 

“Are ye?” inquired Nate, shrewdly. “How 
do you know that?” 

The boy’s face flushed; he was startled. Nate 


THE BOYS MEET AGAIN 


79 


laughed. course you ’re a stranger,” he 

said. ‘‘Otherwise I should know your name. 
Do you like the chair!” 

“Yes,” answered the lad, still confused. “I 
never saw a better in a city store.” 

“Boston?” inquired Nate. 

Again the look of doubt. “New York — I 
think.” 

“It ’s no consequence,” Nate said. “Now the 
doctor wanted you to be in the sun for a while, 
and outdoors as long as you can stand it. The 
sun will be on you for half an hour or so, but not 
in your eyes. When it ’s gone, I ’ll bring a book. 
If I was you, I ’d sleep if I could.” He went 
away. 

Rodman could not sleep; his pleasure was too 
keen. To be free of the house, to feel the breeze 
on his cheek, to see the birds and the hillside and 
the valley, — all this was pure enjoyment. Again, 
his heart was warmed by the kindness which sur- 
rounded him. He had fallen among friends. He 
was so satisfied that, even when Nate brought him 
a book, he did not read. And there was the val- 
ley to look at, a narrow place, to be sure, but 
much larger than his world of the last fortnight. 
Below him fields alternated with woods ; the mill- 


80 


THE KUNAWAY 


pond was broad and still; the town itself bad so 
many shade-trees that it seemed to stand in a 
grove; and even the mill buildings, covered with 
vines and standing among elms, were scarcely to 
be distinguished. Out of the tree-tops rose a 
spire and a beKry, a pair of cupolas, and perhaps 
a couple of dozen roofs. There must be dozens 
more that he could not see, and even the streets 
were completely hidden. 

He could see, however, the roads that led away 
from the town. There were four of them, run- 
ning to four quarters of the compass until lost 
in woods. He fell to watching passers on them, 
men or boys on foot or in wagons of all kinds. 
At length he noticed a light carriage which, 
drawn by a single horse, was coming in his direc- 
tion. The occupants he could not make out. He 
had discovered that this road, as it reached the 
bottom of the hill, turned aside, and after run- 
ning for a hundred yards in woods, again ap- 
peared, to skirt the base of the ridge. The car- 
riage disappeared, but though he counted on see- 
ing it emerge before long, to his regret it did 
not reappear. ‘Ht went,’^ he thought, ‘‘to some 
house that I cannot see.’’ 


THE BOYS MEET AGAIN 


81 


But presently, to his satisfaction, he noticed 
the horse’s head and the upper part of the car- 
riage coming diagonally up the hill. ‘‘I Ve 
learned a new road,” he thought. 

There were two persons in the carriage: not 
women, certainly. He narrowed his eyes. 
^‘Men! And one is citified.” One of them was, 
indeed, wearing a stiff straw hat and a tall white 
collar. 

Then the carriage turned, and came quartering 
up the hill in a different direction. The truth 
came to him at once. ‘^The road zigzags, and 
they ’re coming here ! ’ ’ 

He looked about him as if for escape; he 
thought of calling Nate. As if brought by sym- 
pathy, Nate came out tod looked at him. ‘‘All 
right?” he asked. He saw in the boy’s face what 
so many had already noted there, the hunted look, 
the desperation mingled with appeal. “Why, 
what ’s wrong?” 

“That carriage is coming here!” 

Nate looked down the hill. “Sure enough, it 
is.” 

“It ’s some one after me!” cried Eodman. 

“After you?” asked Nate, looking at him nar- 


82 


THE RUNAWAY 


rowly. The boy was white. Nate put his hand 
on his shoulder. ‘‘It ^s only visitors. Friends 
of mine.^’ 

“One of them is from the city/’ insisted Rod- 
man. His breath was coming quickly, and he be- 
gan to try to rise. 

“Surely,” answered Nate. “But ye needn’t 
be afraid of him. It ’s Brian Dodd, and if he is 
rather citified in his dress, it don’t mean nothin’. 
He ain’t half so smart as his cousin Pelham, that 
comes with him.” 

Rodman sank back. “Oh, that ’s who they 
are?” 

Nate nodded. “Pelham ’s sixteen; jes’ about 
your age. His father was here the other day; 
he owns the mills. The other feller, he ’s out of 
New York. Half a year older, maybe. Stayin’ 
here for the summer.” 

Rodman looked again at the approaching 
travelers. Now that they were nearer, he saw 
clearly that they were boys. 

“If you don’t feel up to seein’ ’em,” said Nate, 
“I ’ll send ’em back. But if I was you, I ’d see 
’em. It ain’t no disgrace to be sick, not as I ’ve 
learned yet. An’ perhaps the visit ’ll set you 
up.” 


THE BOYS MEET AGAIN 


83 


Eodman appeared to pull himself together. 
''All right/’ he said. "Tell me what they’re 
like. ’ ’ 

"Pelham, he ’s all right,” answered Nate. 
"That city chap — ^well, you can jedge as well as 
I. I ain’t seen much of him.” Nate went again 
into the house. 

Presently, coming around the corner of the 
house, the two hoys approached on foot. Pelham 
came first, with an eager and interested look. 
He went straight to the invalid and held out his 
hand. "I ’m Pelham Dodd,” he explained. 
' ' My father told me that perhaps you ’d like com- 
pany. So I came with my cousin. Brian, this 
is — ” 

He paused, embarrassed. The lad spoke for 
himself. "Nate is going to call me Eodman.” 

"Eodman, then,” said Pelham, relieved. 
"This is my cousin Brian.” 

With elaborate ease Brian shook Eodman ’s 
hand. He was a little taller than Pelham, a little 
softer and slower. He dressed in an older fash- 
ion, as Eodman had already seen at a distance ; he 
had more of a manner, and spoke as to a younger 
boy. "Sorry you ’re ill.” He went and leaned 
against a near-by tree. 


84 


THE RUNAWAY 


In justice to Brian, it must be considered that 
the meeting was a difficult one. He and Pelham 
had been carefully instructed not to question 
Rodman about his past ; they were not to suggest 
that they had met him before ; they were simply 
to take him for granted. All this was not easy, 
especially when both the boys had been full of 
their knowledge concerning the lad, of curiosity 
to know whether he was the boy of the railroad 
story, and when now at first glance they recog- 
nized him. 

Pelham threw himself into the breach. Plump- 
ing down on the grass beside the invalid, he be- 
gan to talk. ‘‘Nice place this, up here. Good 
view, is n’t it?” 

“Very good,” agreed Rodman. 

“Lots of times I Ve sat here with Nate and the 
boys,” went on Pelham. “If ever we chaps are 
out in the woods, we usually try to come home by 
Nate’s, so as to spend half an hour here, talking 
with him. Best view in the town, I think, and 
best man to talk to. Don’t you like his stories?” 

Rodman smiled and shook his head. “I ’ve 
scarcely been in condition to listen to any. But 
I ’ll make him tell me some.” 

“It ’s worth it,” said Pelham. “And see 



Plumping down on the grass beside tlie invalid, he began to talk 



THE BOYS MEET AGAIN 


87 


here — you say, I T1 bring the whole gang up 
here to see you on Saturday morning. You 
ought to know them.’^ 

Eodman smiled. ‘ ‘ Thanks. ’ ’ 

‘‘We play ball that afternoon,’’ explained Pel- 
ham. “Perhaps you could get down to see us.” 

“Perhaps,” agreed Eodman. 

“And later you can play with us,” Pelham went 
on, warming with enthusiasm. “We have a 
match every Saturday, when we can arrange it. 
Any fellow can get a place on the nine who plays 
well enough. — ^You do play, of course?” 

“Of course,” said Eodman. 

Brian spoke suddenly. “Where have you 
played?” 

Eodman, flushing, hesitated for an answer. 
Pelham struck in quickly: “What ’s the differ- 
ence? And say, Eodman, there ’s swimming, and 
hare and hounds. We have pretty good times.” 

Eodman spoke slowly, and with evident reluc- 
tance. “I suppose my ankle will be well again 
soon, and my wrist. But, you know, I can’t 
spend my time playing, for I have n’t any money. 
I can’t live on Nate here, and I ought to go to 
work. ’ ’ 

“Whew!” whistled Pelham. But he raised no 


88 


THE RUNAWAY 


objection. He knew plenty of lads in the town 
who, tbougb no older than bimself, were beginning 
tbeir work in tbe mill. Nevertheless, Rodman 
seemed not that kind of boy. Surely be was bet- 
ter bred than they. ^‘Wbat shall you doV^ be 
asked. ‘ ‘ There ’s work in tbe mill, of course, and 
you ’re above legal age. I ’m sure Father would 
give you a job. But you wouldn’t care for that 
sort of thing.” 

’ve done worse,” stated Rodman. “I ’ve 
been waiter in a city restaurant — hot, greasy, 
smelly work!” 

should think so!” agreed Pelly, heartily. 

‘‘Where was the restaurant?” demanded 
Brian. 

Again came the hesitation to answer, and again 
Pelham interposed. “The mill would be better 
than that. Or you might find light work out- 
doors.” 

Nate, approaching from the house, heard the 
last remark. “Rodman ’s going to stay here 
with me,” he said positively. “I can give him 
work.” 

“You!” cried Pelham. “WTiy, Nate, you ’ve 
always refused to take any one to work with 
you!” 


THE BOYS MEET AGAIN 


89 


all right/’ declared Nate, sturdily. ‘‘I 
never before saw a feller I could believe in. 
Every one that ever applied to me was of the 
kind that only wanted to learn my secrets in or- 
der to sell ’em. But I know when I can trust; 
and Eodman, be can work with me if be wants 
to.” He looked at the boy. ‘^We have holidays 
here whenever we want ’em. The air ’s better 
here than in the mill, an’ the pay ’s jes’ as 
good.” 

‘ ^ Will you take me in ? ” laughed Pelham. 

^^Cert’,” answered Nate. ‘‘But first you ask 
your pa if be ’d let you come. And now — !” 
His band, which be bad been bolding behind his 
back, he suddenly revealed as bolding bottles. 

“Eoot-beer!” cried Pelham, springing up. 
“Ob, Nate!” 

“One for you,” said Nate, smiling. “Eod- 
man, be hadn’t better have some till next week. 
But your cousin can have the other bottle, if be ’s 
willin’ to drink out of it.” 

“I ’ll try it,” said Brian, gingerly. 

— “Drank only a couple o’ swallers of it!” 
grumbled Nate, a half-hour later, when the boys 
bad gone. He emptied the bottle upon the grass. 
“Fust boy I ever see that didn’t like my root- 


90 


THE RUNAWAY 


beer. Rodman, I guess you an^ I will agree on 
that young gentleman.’’ 

On his way homeward, Brian tried to make Pel- 
ham agree with him about Nate. ‘^Confound 
his root-beer,” he said. ‘‘I never drink the 
stuff. ’ ’ 

‘‘Then you needn’t have spoiled a bottle for 
him,” suggested Pelham. “We all like it.” 

“I don’t see what you can find in him,” went 
on Brian. “He ’s quite rough and uncultivated.” 

“Of course,” laughed Pelham. “Otherwise he 
wouldn’t be Nate. — But Brian, why did you try 
to make Rodman recollect about himself? Father 
specially told us not to.” 

“That fellow hasn’t lost his memory,” de- 
clared Brian. “If he remembers what he has 
done, he can remember where and when he did 
it.” 

“Not necessarily, ’ ’ retorted Pelham. ‘ ‘ Did n ’t 
you hear the doctor explain last night that a 
man could remember the one and forget the other? 
Persons and places, names and dates, he will for- 
get, while he will remember that he can do, or 
even that he has done, one thing or another.” 

“How are we,” asked Brian, “to know that 
he ’s forgotten things unless we ask him?” 


THE BOYS MEET AGAIN 


91 


‘‘If lie gets to worrying about bis memory,’’ re- 
plied Pelham, “he ’s much less likely to get it 
back. That ’s why they want us to ask him 
nothing. ’ ’ 

“Why doesn’t he ask about himself?” de- 
manded Brian. 

“I can’t tell you,” answered Pelham. “I 
think such things are none of our business. And 
I tell you again, Brian, that if once you really run 
up against Father, you ’ll get a jolt.” 

Pelham spoke good-naturedly, but the warning 
was plain. Brian gave one last grumble: “I 
think he ’s putting it all on.” 


CHAPTER VI 


NATE HAS A PLAN 

Y OU see, it ’s this way,^’ said Nate. 

The others, with one impulse, turned to 
attend more closely. It was in the living-room of 
the Dodd house, and Nate, in speaking with Mr. 
Dodd, lifted his voice a little higher than he needed 
to. Mrs. Dodd, who had been standing listening 
by her husband’s chair, drew up another and sat 
down. Brother Bob came out of his newspaper, 
Pelham emerged from his book, and Brian, care- 
lessly lounging nearer, leaned against the mantel. 
Even Harriet, retiring as she often was, laid 
down her sewing, and came and stood by her 
mother’s chair. Nate, looking around upon them 
with a smile, turned to Mr. Dodd. 

‘Hf you ’d rather we talked this out by our- 
selves — ” 

Mr. Dodd hesitated. He could say, ‘‘Run 
away, youngsters,” and so could have the room 
to himself and his wife, with, perhaps. Bob also. 
But the younger ones, as he knew, were intensely 

92 


NATE HAS A PLAN 


93 


interested in the boy np at Nate^s, and he wished 
Pelham and Harriet to hear what was to he said. 
Further, he trusted absolutely to their secrecy, for 
he had long ago trained his children to say nothing 
of what went on in the family circle. He wanted 
them, therefore, to stay. It was Brian that he 
doubted. He did not know his nephew very well, 
and was not sure whether closer acquaintance 
would make him think better of the boy, or worse. 
But for that very reason, he did not wish to show 
doubt of him. And again, was there any great 
need of secrecy? Probably not. He said, there- 
fore, ^^Oh, this is all right. 

Nate nodded. ‘‘Well,’^ he began, ‘Hhis hoy 
Eodman, he wants to go away. ^ ’ 

They all exclaimed in surprise. ‘H thought, 
said Mr. Dodd, ‘Hhat the boys said he was going 
to work with you. ’ ’ 

‘^We talked of it when they was there,’’ agreed 
Nate, ‘^but you know you can’t really settle 
things when others is about. He didn’t say 
nothin’ about it for two days more; but I noticed 
him a-tryin’ of his ankle every little while. It ’s 
been gittin’ well fast, an’ he seemed to be takin’ 
a lot of satisfaction in that. So I says to him last 
night, ‘What ’s your awful hurry to git well!’ 


94 


THE RUNAWAY 


‘‘He wouldn’t tell at first. He ’llowed ’s any 
one wants to git well, and things o’ that sort. 
But I kep’ at him, fur I suspicioned the real rea- 
son, an’ at las’ he admitted it. He says he wants 
to go.” 

“Did he give a reason?” asked Mr. Dodd. 

“No, he jes’ wants to go. Whether he ’s 
nervous here, a-wantin’ to git some remoter 
place — ” 

“Remoter from what?” interrupted Mr. Dodd. 

“Don’t ask me,” replied Nate. “Still, I ’ve 
got it in my head that he ’s nearer to somethin’ 
than he likes to he. It ain’t any of us, ’s I can 
see. He says we ’ve all been mighty nice to him. 
I says, then why go away from us? An’ he jes’ 
comes hack to the same idee, he wants to git 
away. ’ ’ 

“What shall you do?” asked Mr. Dodd. 

“I?” asked Nate. “I ain’t got no say in the 
matter. If he wants to go, I cain’t stop him. 
Still, I feel so had I thought I ’d ask his owner to 
come up an’ see what can he done.” 

“His owner?” inquired Mr. Dodd. “Who is 
that?” 

“Harriet captured him,” answered Nate. 
“He ’s her property, if he ’s any one’s. I 


NATE HAS A PLAN 


95 


thought I ’d ask her to come up an’ take a look 
at the situation.” 

Harriet, with all eyes on her, felt that she 
turned scarlet. ^^Why,” she gasped, — I — ” 

‘‘But, Nate,” began Mr. Dodd, a little impa- 
tiently. Then he stopped. Nate usually knew 
what he was about. 

“I was jes’ foolin’ about her ownin’ him,” ex- 
plained Nate. “Wanted to make her feel a little 
responsibility for him, that ’s all.” He smiled at 
Harriet, but continued addressing Mr. Dodd. 
“What I ’m really after is this. You know the 
doctor said that seein’ her might bring back 
Eodman’s memory. Well, I want to see if it 
will.” 

“But there is no hurry,” objected Mr. Dodd. 

Nate shook his head. “I ’m not so sure. I 
feel ’s if I might wake some mornin’, when once 
he ’s rightly got the use of his leg, an’ find him 
gone. Seems ’s if I couldn’t bear it if he got 
away without our makin’ this last try.” 

“Well,” said Mr. Dodd, slowly, “her mother 
shall go up with her.” 

“Askin’ your pardon,” persisted Nate, “I ’d 
rather not have grown folks around. They two 
ought to meet sorter natural, an’ entirely by them- 


96 


THE KUNAWAY 


selves. Why, Mr. Dodd, you can trust Harriet 
with me!^’ 

‘*Of course,” agreed Mr. Dodd. ‘‘But I don’t 
know anything about this boy.” 

“Eodman ’s all right,” declared Nate, em- 
phatically. “I can’t say more than that about 
anybody. ’ ’ 

Mr. Dodd looked at his wife. She, who had 
been listening thoughtfully, slowly nodded. “I 
like what I ’ve seen of him,” she said. “Let her 
go. Nate will be there.” 

Nate looked at Harriet. “I ain’t proposin’ to 
be eavesdroppin’,” he explained, “but I ’ll be 
handy. Harriet, will ye go ? ” 

Harriet looked at her mother, who smiled ap- 
proval. She looked at her father, who nodded 
his assent. Interested as she was in the outcome 
of the question about Eodman, she still felt un- 
willing to take any personal part until, as her 
eye left her father’s, it encountered Brian’s. He 
was still leaning against the mantel, and watched 
her with something of amusement. Plainly his 
gaze said, ^^You can’t do anything.” 

She turned quickly to Nate, and smiled at his 
eager look. “If you think I can do any good, I 
will go.” 


NATE HAS A PLAN 


97 


Eight!’’ ejaculated Nate, rising. you’ll 
have your horse hitched — ” 

‘‘I ’ll see to that,” said Pelham, and started at 
once for the barn. 

Harriet went up-stairs for her hat. As she 
came down again, Brian was waiting at the foot. 

‘ ^ Going to look after your property ! ’ ’ 

She would not let him tease her, yet she could 
not smile. She gave him the retort that rose to 
her lips : ^ ^ He ’d be yours if only you ’d kept him 
when you had him.” 

“My!” mocked Brian. “How pretty we are 
when we ’re angry ! Look like that, Harriet, and 
you ’ll be sure to keep him.” 

But she saw that he flushed with vexation, and 
her irritation passed. She put her hand on his 
arm. “Let ’s be friendly, Brian,” she said, and 
left him. 

In contrast with Brian, her brothers were a 
pleasure to her. The horse was ready almost at 
once; Bob helped her into the carriage, and Pel- 
ham squeezed her hand for encouragement. In 
spite of the uncertainty and delicacy of her mis- 
sion, she felt confident as she drove away with 
Nate at her side. 

“Harriet,” began Nate, when once they were 


1 


98 THE KUNAWAY 

out of ear-shot of the others; ‘‘I guess I was 
rather clumsy, speakin’ of you as ownin’ Eod- 
man. Ye see, I wanted to git round to the sub- 
ject, and did n’t hit it quite right.” 

^^It makes no difference, Nate,” she replied. 
She feared, however, that she had not heard the 
last of it from Brian. 

‘‘I wish thet cousin o’ youm hadn’t been 
round,” complained Nate. ‘‘I could ’a’ spoke’ 
freer. Your father, I see he didn’t really feel 
safe with him; an’ as for me, I don’t trust him 
nohow. But now that we ’re where he can’t hear, 
I ’ll tell you the rest that ’s on my mind. ’ ’ 

‘‘There ’s more, then I” asked Harriet. 

“Yes,” said Nate. “It bothers me quite ’s 
much ’s the rest. It all goes together, too. I 
mean this losin’ of Eod’s memory.” 

Harriet waited, interested. 

“It ’s quite nateral,” went on Nate, “fer the 
doctor to say that Eod ’s lost his memory. It 
does look a powerful lot that way. Whenever I 
give a hint that I ’d like to know a little more, 
if only he ’d tell it to me (you know the doctor 
told me to do it, accidental like, every once in a 
while) — ^whenever I do that, why, then he gets so 
puzzled and unhappy, and loolcs at me so — ” 


NATE HAS A PLAN 


99 


Harriet remembered Eodman’s look. It bad 
haunted her since last she saw the hoy. 

tell you,’’ mused Nate, ^Hhere ’s somethin’ 
about that boy thet takes hold o’ me. I know, 
when he looks at me like that, that he ’d tell me 
somethin’ if he only could. When he does that, 
I ’d stake any thing I ’ve got that he can’t remem- 
ber. ’ ’ 

Harriet was startled. ‘ ^ Do you mean you think 
sometimes that he does remember?” 

‘Ht ’s powerful queer,” said Nate. ’ll be- 
lieve all the doctor says about rememberin’ what 
he ’s done but not where he did it, an’ about fer- 
gettin’ people an’ places. An’ I ’m willin’ to sup- 
pose that, havin’ himself discovered that he ’s 
forgot, he keeps quiet about it, an’ hopes we 
won’t discover it. As I say, I ’ll believe all that. 
But, Harriet, there ’s some things I suspicion he 
does remember!” 

‘‘What sort of things?” she asked, intent. 

“Mind ye,” warned Nate. “I said I suspi- 
cioned, not that I ’m sure. But there ’s three 
things I can’t help remarkin’. One is this: when 
I put his clothes away to keep for him, I went 
through his pockets, so ’s I should know what he 
had if he sh’d ask fer it. Now I can’t rightly re- 


100 


THE RUNAWAY 


member, but when be came to himself again, I 
think he never asked me a question about his 
things. Yet the other day, a-speakin’ with Pel- 
ham and Brian, he says, right out, ain’t got 
no money!’ ” 

‘‘And hadn’t he?” asked Harriet. 

“Not a cent!” answered Nate. “There war n’t 
in his clothes not a bit o ’ money, nor even a thing 
to keep money in, not even an empty purse. 
Why, when I think,” cried Nate, waxing indig- 
nant, “that that cousin o’ yourn accuses Rodman 
o’ stealin’ his wallet — ” 

Harriet stopped him. “We ’re never going to 

speak of that again. So I hope, Nate. Please 
forget it.” 

“Well,” growled Nate, subsiding, “if ever it is 
spoken of ag’in, 1 ’ll have something to say.” 

“What did you find in Rodman’s pockets, 
then?” asked Harriet. 

“Jes’ a handkerchief an’ a pencil, that ’s all. 
Not even an initial on the handkerchief.” 

Harriet thought for a minute. “Perhaps,” she 
suggested, “you yourself told Rodman that you 
found no money.” 

“I ’m fool enough sometimes to think I did tell 
him,” admitted Nate. “You know how we want 


NATE HAS A PLAN 


101 


to believe things we want to believe. I ’m willin’ 
to think I Ve lost my memory if only I can be 
sure that he ’s lost hisn. But, jes’ the same, I 
could almost swear I told him nothin’.” 

Harriet nodded thoughtfully. see. Now 
what were the other things?” 

‘‘The next is,” said Nate, “that he wants to git 
away from somethin’ definite. The other day, 
when first he saw Pelham and Brian cornin’ up 
the road, he thought Brian was a man, a feller 
from the city, a-comin’ for him. He was mighty 
uneasy until I said it was only the boys. But he ’s 
afraid o’ somethin’ real.” 

“What can it be?” asked Harriet. 

“That feller on the railroad,” suggested Nate. 

“But for him to be two weeks, more than two 
weeks, in coming!” objected Harriet. 

“It was something, anyway,” persisted Nate. 
“It looks like ’s if he had a memory. — An’ 
the last thing is, Eodman ’s got you on his 
mind.” 

Harriet, thinking of the wallet, tried not to 
betray herself. She looked at Nate inquiringly, 
and said nothing. 

“I told him you tied up his wrist,” said Nate. 
“He ’s grateful, and he wants to thank you. 


102 


THE RUNAWAY 


That nateral, but there ’s more. He wants to 
know what kind of a girl you are — an’ I ’d like 
to know why.” 

Harriet said nothing, hut she wondered if she 
knew why. If she did, if this hoy was shamming, 
then she wished that he had never burdened her 
with his secret. 

‘‘Why don’t you tell this to the doctor?” she 
asked. 

Nate made a wry face. “Fust place, I ain’t 
anxious to be proved wrong in my jedgments. 
I ’ll make up my mind myself. Second place, I 
know that if Hod ’s trickin’ us, he ’s got good 
reason fer it.” Harriet began to smile, and 
Nate himself followed unwillingly. “Oh, I know 
I ’m ’s unreasonable ’s a woman over this young- 
ster. But the fact is, ag’in’ my better jedgment, 
I trust him, an’ that ’s all there is to it.’” 

“Well,” asked Harriet, “what am I to do?” 

“I want your jedgment of him,” explained 
Nate. “It would relieve my mind a lot if you 
could agree that he ’s all right — or at least that 
he isn’t all wrong.” 

Harriet did not ask Nate how she should know 
if Rodman were pretending. She believed that 
only too surely she would be able to decide. The 


NATE HAS A PLAN 


103 


moment that their eyes met, she thought, she 
could tell if he remembered her. 

T1 do what I can,’’ she said. 

Therefore when Nate, having tied the horse 
at the gate, led Harriet to where Eodman was 
sitting in his lounging chair, she felt the impor- 
tance of the meeting, and knew herself to he un- 
der a strain. She was going to do what she had 
never yet done — to look into some one’s eyes for 
proof of suspicion. 

‘^Eodman,” said Nat, ‘‘this is Harriet Dodd. 
She ’s go in’ to fetch somethin’ home to her 
mother, an’ will stay with you while I go an’ get 
it.” He left them. 

And Harriet looked into the hoy’s eyes. She 
thought that she would see either recognition and 
the eifort to conceal it, or else the polite glance of 
the new acquaintance. But she saw neither — only 
the troubled, doubtful, appealing look that Nate 
had described. “It is good of you to give 
me a chance to thank you,” he said, but she 
hardly heard the words. Did he know her? 
Did he think he had seen her before? Or, fail- 
ing to remember anything, was he appealing to her 
not to remind him of his weakness? She could 
not tell. She felt a disappointment, but then a 


104 


THE RUNAWAY 


great relief. The doubt in his eyes, whatever 
else it might mean, was an honest doubt. She 
felt that she understood what Nate meant when 
he said that whether Rodman had lost his memory 
or not, he was ^ ‘ all right. ’ ’ 

He was rising from his chair. “Please remem- 
ber your ankle,’’ she begged, “and don’t thank 
me.” 

But he, insisting that his ankle was almost well, 
made her take his seat, while he sat upon the 
grass beside her. As for further thanks, he said, 
“I have fallen among friends.” 

“Why shouldn’t you?” asked Harriet. 
“We ’re average good people here, I hope.” 

She drew him from the subject of gratitude, 
and they talked for a while. She found that he 
spoke with the freedom of good manners. Har- 
riet had not been taught to test by artificial 
standards, but she saw that he was well-bred. 
Yet after they had talked for some five minutes, 
once more she saw in his eyes that troubled look, 
and felt that he was going to speak more per- 
sonally. 

“I wanted to ask you something,” he said. “I 
didn’t have a chance to ask your brother; and, 
besides, it ’s your advice I want.” 


NATE HAS A PLAN 


105 


I have any to give/’ she replied, ^^yon shall 
have it. ” 

He looked away, off over the valley. ‘H ’m — 
I ’m living on Nate here. I must have cost him 
a good deal, in money and time. Do you think 
I ought to stay on?” 

^‘1 see only one answer,” she replied at once. 
“Stay till you have paid him hack.” 

He gave her a glance of pleasure at her direct- 
ness. “I can work it off here,” he agreed. “If 
I went away, I don’t know how soon I could find a 
job.” 

“But is paying him hack in money,” asked 
Harriet, “all there is to it? Wouldn’t you hurt 
his feelings by going when — ^when you have no 
place, no friends, waiting for you? No good rea- 
son to give him, I mean ? ’ ’ 

She said the last with a little hesitation, but 
Eodman did not look away. “I understand,” he 
said. “And it isn’t only that Nate is fond of 
me. In these weeks I’ve grown very fond of 
him.” 

“Then,” she demanded, “why should you think 
of going?” 

Troubled again, once more his glance wan- 
dered. His voice fell. “I can’t explain,” he 


106 


THE RUNAWAY 


said. feel a kind of nightmare wish to — to 
run away and hide.’^ 

Harriet leaned toward him and spoke quickly, 
feeling that if she hesitated she would never dare 
to say what, at the moment, appeared the right 
message. 

‘^But you haven^t been found yet. Are you 
likely to be found at allT’ 

Startled, he looked at her intently. Now did 
she see into his secret? — or did she not? But his 
glance was quicker than hers, and his eyes 
dropped before she was satisfied. She continued 
speaking : 

‘‘And suppose you are found, where can you 
be better off? Nate would help you, and my 
father. Oh, I think you would make a mistake 
to go away ! ’ ’ 

He was looking down, and his face was deeply 
flushed. He did not ask the meaning of her 
words, which seemed to refer to some real dan- 
ger to him. After a moment, he prepared to 
speak, and she knew that he was intent upon the 
etfect of his words. 

“And you?’’ he asked. “Can I count on 
you?” 

Harriet felt all but sure that she understood his 


NATE HAS A PLAN 


107 


meaning. ‘‘Yes/’ she answered. “You can 
count on me.” 

Her voice, though low like his, was deeply 
earnest. “Thank you,” he said in response. 
“That ’s — that ’s what I wanted to know.” 

Now Nate approached them from the house. 
“I didn’t mean to be so long,” he said. “Har- 
riet, will you take this to your mother ?’ ’ On his 
arm he carried a small roll of dark cloth. Un- 
rolling it, he laid across Harriet’s knee a length 
of the beautiful shimmering material. 

“Oh!” cried Harriet. “For Mother’s suit. 
What beautiful broadcloth — and the color ! 
Nate, how can you make such tints?” 

Nate laughed, but with evident pride. “I love 
to do ’em, ’ ’ he said. ‘ ‘ I like to take a piece about 
the size of that there, good and plenty for a 
lady’s suit, an’ dye it a fashionable color, but a 
shade you can’t find in Noo York — no, nor in 
Paris. I like to think that when your mother 
wears that piece o’ dress-goods, the other ladies 
would give all their old shoes to git it from her. 
I like to think o ’ them askin ’ her where she bought 
it — Liberty’s, they s’pose; an’ she tellin’ ’em 
that it was dyed up in the hills here, by a man 
thet ain’t got but one jigger, an’ thet cooks his 


108 


THE RUNAWAY 


own dyes liimself. I tell ye, Harriet, I gits my 
livin’ out o’ the stuff I dye for your father; but 
I make my real profit out of a little piece like 
this. ’ ’ 

Nate’s face glowed as he spoke. Harriet, gaz- 
ing at him, saw into his heart and recognized a 
true craftsman’s enthusiasm for his work. But 
this was not all. 

‘‘And you give it away!” she exclaimed. 

Nate grew sober. “Your mother paid me, 
years ago, for all I can ever do for her.” 

Harriet knew there was a story that would 
account for Nate’s devotion to her mother. Mrs. 
Dodd had once refused to tell it. “It ’s Nate’s 
story, dear, ’ ’ she had said. ‘ ‘ If you ever hear it, 
it must be from Nate himself.” Now Harriet, 
remembering, marveled a little, and then grew 
wishful. 

“Could any one else — could I,” she asked, 
“ever pay you for a piece like that?” 

Nate smiled. “Maybe you could, if you ’re a 
good girl.” Folding the material as he spoke, 
he gestured with his elbow toward the house. 
“In the house I ’ve got enough material to dye 
for another suit, but you ’ve got to earn it. 


NATE HAS A PLAN 


109 


There, Harriet, that paper T1 keep the roll clean. 
An’ thank yon for cornin’ so far for it.” 

After she had said good-by to Eodman, and 
when Nate had put her into her carriage, he 
leaned over the wheel. ‘‘How did yon git 
along?” he asked, with lowered voice. 

She smiled into his earnest face. “Very well,” 
she replied. “And, Nate, I think he ’ll stay.” 

His eyes shone with satisfaction. Then he 
dropped his voice still lower. “An’ — an’ his 
memory?” 

She grew sober as she answered, “Honestly, I 
do not know.” 



CHAPTEE Vn 


DIFFEEENT IDEAS OF DUTY 

B rian,’’ said Mr. Dodd, one Saturday about 
noon, ‘‘I am going to ask you to do some- 
thing that you won’t enjoy.” 

‘‘I ’m not afraid of it, sir,” answered Brian, 
readily. 

Brian bad already learned that all the members 
of bis uncle’s bousebold were accustomed to 
helping Mr. Dodd whenever he called on them to 
do so ; and he called on them frequently. Brian’s 
first discovery was of Harriet and her mother 
making out the bills which were sent out monthly 
from the mill. The bookkeeper, he learned, was 
ill, and so the two were doing this work. Pel- 
ham was likely at any time to be called upon 
to help in the office, and both he and Harriet were 
already studying bookkeeping in order to be use- 
ful to their father. At first, all this seemed to 
Brian not only strange, but improper. 

‘‘My father,” he remarked to Pelham, “has 
plenty of clerks to do this sort of thing.” 

110 


DIFFERENT IDEAS OF DUTY 


111 


‘‘He ’s lucky,’’ answered Pelham, undisturbed. 
“Here in this little place Father can’t get the 
quality of service that he wants. Bookkeepers 
and stenographers are scarce.” 

Brian thought that Pelham had not taken his 
meaning. “But it ’s rather hard on you to have 
to help out,” he persisted. 

Pelham, always on intimate terms with dozens 
of the younger mill-hands, and accustomed to the 
idea of working for his living, grinned cheerfully. 
“It ’s not so bad,” he replied. “And then I ’m 
learning a lot about the business. Don’t you 
ever help in your father’s office?” 

“No!” answered Brian, a little scornfully. 
“Why don’t you kick when you ’re told to work?” 

“Kick?” answered Pelham, surprised. 
“What ’s the use, with Father?” 

Brian understood Pelham’s feeling a little bet- 
ter now when Mr. Dodd, coming home from his 
office a little earlier than usual, found him lolling 
in the living-room over a magazine. His uncle 
spoke with perfect courtesy of manner, but with 
the quiet expectation of obedience. It was very 
natural for the boy to reply readily and respect- 
fully. Mr. Dodd smiled, and the thoughtful 
frown on his forehead relaxed slightly. 


112 


THE RUNAWAY 


<<We ’re somewliat tied up to-day,” lie went on 
to explain. ^‘Bob is in the midst of some repairs 
in the weaving-room, and the bookkeeper is so 
behindhand that I Ve had to put Pelham to help- 
ing him. For a couple of days I ’ve been expect- 
ing a set of designs, with a contract, that has been 
overdue from the city. It didn’t come in this 
morning’s mail, but I want to see the designs, 
sign the contract, and send the whole off again to- 
night, so as not to lose Sunday on account of the 
mails. I ’ve telephoned and found that the pack- 
age has started, and that it ought to be in Winton 
already. Since it missed this morning’s mail, it 
can’t come till the carrier’s second trip, late this 
evening, unless I send some one over for it. You 
and Harriet will have to go.” 

An unwelcome thought had come to Brian : this 
might lose him his chance of the afternoon’s ball 
game. Pelham had promised him a place on the 
nine. ‘‘H-m!” he said. 

wouldn’t bother you if I could help it,” 
went on Mr. Dodd. Though Brian did not real- 
ize it, his uncle was studying him. ‘‘Pelham is 
needed where he is. Harriet must go, for she is 
known at the post-office, and can sign for the 
package, which is registered. Yet I can’t send 


DIFFERENT IDEAS OF DUTY 113 

her alone. I should n’t like to at any time, on an 
eight-mile drive through the woods; and then, 
Harriet’s horse is too slow, so I must use Peter, 
who is hard-bitted and rather skittish.” 

see,” responded Brian, but without cordial- 
ity. 

Mr. Dodd understood him perfectly. ‘‘We 
shall have lunch early. Harriet is getting 
ready now. Then if all goes right, you ought to 
be back in time to play in the ball game. But if 
there is any hitch, so that perhaps you have to 
wait for a later mail, why, you ’ll just have to 
miss the game, Brian.” 

“I understand,” said the boy. He looked up 
into his uncle’s face with a laugh which he tried to 
make easy, but which succeeded only in being 
short. “Too bad, sir, you haven’t an automo- 
bile.” 

Mr. Dodd replied as if the criticism were en- 
tirely proper. ‘ ‘ It would often be a convenience ; 
but until we have better roads in winter and 
spring, an automobile is out of the question. If 
you get ready now, Brian, you can start 
promptly. ’ ’ 

Brian, as he prepared for his trip, felt much 
irritated at thus being used without his own con- 


114 


THE EUNAWAY 


sent. ‘‘I didn’t come here for this,” he grum- 
bled to himself. Yet he knew that this was a 
part of what his father had sent him for. The 
warning had been very plain. want you to 
take part in the family life, even if it sometimes 
is a good deal different from ours. And don’t 
write me,” his father had added, ^^complaining, 
if you ’re not satisfied. Your uncle is doing me 
a great favor in taking you in.” 

So, subdued in spite of himself by the memory 
of words as positive as his father had ever said 
to him, Brian ate his lunch and started on his 
drive with Harriet. At the same time, his tem- 
per was not really improved. He spoke of the 
hall game more often than he needed to, com- 
plained of the hills, and was ready to bet that 
something would happen to delay their return. 
All this decidedly troubled Harriet, who, not 
knowing whether to apologize or to laugh at him, 
decided to say as little as she could, in the hope 
that his ill temper would work itself off. 

But Brian, reading disapproval in her silence, 
tried to justify himself. Everything, except the 
hope of the ball game, was a blot upon the face 
of nature. The dust, for instance. Look at three 
inches of dust here in the woods, where you 


DIFFERENT IDEAS OF DUTY 


115 


certainly would expect roads to be damp and 
hard. 

‘‘But you forget/’ said Harriet, “that this has 
been a very dry summer. We have had no rain 
for a month.” 

“Well,” growled Brian, as if this were no ex- 
cuse, “last summer, when I was at the sea-shore, 
it rained almost every night. We had no dust 
at all.” 

This was too much for Harriet. “Oh, Brian!” 
she cried, and laughed. It was a good, hearty 
laugh, a wholesome laugh, ringing merrily 
through the woods. Brian had to make an effort 
in order not to join her and forget his grievances. 

But he made the effort. “That ’s perfectly 
true,” he grumbled. “And it always rains more 
at the sea-shore. Everybody knows it does.” 
He scowled over the horse’s head, and would not 
look at Harriet. He had to hear her, but he con- 
trived to make her laughter sound mocking and 
unkind. Then, as a recollection came to him, he 
grew still more morose. 

“We ’re near the place,” he told Harriet, who, 
controlling her laughter, now was quiet again — 
“the very place where Pelham and I met that 
precious Eodman. And look here,” he added 


116 


THE KUNAWAY 


with excitement, ‘ ‘ I believe that ’s the fellow him- 
self ! ^ ’ 

Ahead of them was walking a boy, swinging 
along swiftly and easily on the hard path by the 
side of the road. When the carriage drew 
nearer, Harriet saw that he was carrying his 
right hand a little awkwardly. Below his cnff 
she saw a white strip of bandage on his wrist. 

‘Wes,’’ she said. “Although his back is 
turned, I ’m sure that ’s Eodman.’ 

“Well,” answered Brian, “I know what I am 
going to do.” He touched the horse with the 
whip, hastening him so that the carriage reached 
Eodman soon after he had passed the turn. 
Then Brian, as he drew up to him, stopped the 
horse. 

“Hullo,” said Brian, leaning forward to speak 
across Harriet. 

Eodman, smiling at Harriet, took off his cap. 
Then he looked at Brian. His expression 
changed, and he seemed to put himself on his 
guard. “Good day,” he answered. Neither of 
the greetings was cordial. 

Brian pointed with his whip at the roadside 
and the bushes. “Does this place look famil- 
iar?” 



He seemed to put himself on his guard 





\ 


DIFFERENT IDEAS OF DUTY 


119 


Familiar r’ returned Rodman. ‘‘Why should 
itr’ 

“Why shouldn't itT^ persisted Brian. 

The two boys looked at each other fixedly, but 
slowly a sneer grew on Brian’s lip, and a dull red 
crept to Rodman’s forehead. 

“Huh!” cried Brian, at last, triumphantly. 
^^Now isn ’t the place familiar Without wait- 
ing for an answer, he touched the horse with the 
whip, and Peter, starting, whirled the carriage 
away. 

For a moment Harriet, breathless with aston- 
ishment, remained silent. She had expected 
Brian to ask Rodman to ride. At last she found 
her voice. “Brian!” she cried, “were you re- 
minding him?” 

“Of course I was,” returned Brian. “Why 
not?” 

“Father told us not to.” 

“It was too good a chance to lose,” insisted 
Brian. “And on the very spot. Besides, you 
saw that he did n ’t answer. ’ ’ 

“That meant nothing,” answered Harriet. 

“He grew red,” continued Brian. “He knew 
the place.” 

“Of course he grew red,” replied Harriet. 


120 


THE RUNAWAY 


‘‘Any one could see that you meant to be unpleas- 
ant. ’ ’ 

“I tell you,’^ declared Brian, stoutly, “that he 
has no more lost his memory than I have ! ’ ’ 

Harriet, controlling herself, remained silent as 
long as she could. Her feeling that Brian was 
unfair made her almost ready for tears ; but she 
scorned to cry, nor would she allow herself to 
grow angry. Yet her indignation, a far nobler 
feeling, grew, until at last she felt she must 
speak. It was at this moment that Brian, look- 
ing about him, said suddenly, and almost under 
his breath: 

‘ ‘ I believe this was the place, after all ! ” 

Harriet answered almost with sternness. “If 
it was, you were entirely wrong to speak to him 
as you did. And in any case, Brian, I think you 
acted badly.’’ 

Her voice trembled with feeling as she spoke, 
and her steady eyes surely would have abashed 
him had he met their glance. But Brian would 
not look at her, and, snapping his whip at some 
leaves by the roadside, began to whistle. 

In the meantime, Rodman, left to himself, 
strode manfully onward. But the flush had not 
died out of his cheek. As Harriet knew, he had 


DIFFERENT IDEAS OF DUTY 


121 


plainly perceived Brian antagonism, and he 
winced under the unkindness of it. Walking 
there alone in the woods, his earlier swing and 
hopefulness vanished. Nate had sent him, with 
money in his pocket, to Winton to buy clothes; 
for his single suit, though neatly patched and 
mended, was no longer very presentable. Now 
even the recollection of this added to Rodman’s 
discomfort. Had Brian, looking down from the 
neat little runabout, despised his shabby appear- 
ance? Had Harriet herself, sitting so silent by 
him, done so, too? But the thought of Harriet 
suddenly refreshed him. 

^ ‘ I can trust her ! ” he said aloud. 

And so, with less buoyancy than at first, but 
with more true courage, he trudged onward to 
the town. There he went to the store which Nate 
had described to him, bought a ready-made suit, 
and left it for slight alterations. Wandering 
again out into the streets, he sought another 
store, where he bought for Nate several balls of 
twine. It was here that he found, higgling over 
a purchase, a tall and lank countryman, in whom 
he thought he recognized a man whom Nate had 
described to him. Waiting until he had finished 
his purchase, Rodman spoke to him. 


122 


THE RUNAWAY 


‘‘Are you Mr. Johnson?” 

“I be.” The farmer turned on him an inquis- 
itive eye. “An’ you ’re the youngster that Nate 
tol’ me about. He said you ’d want to be lifted 
home. ’ ’ 

“I should be glad if you could take me,” an- 
swered Rodman. 

“Wal,” said the Yankee, “I ’m travelin’ home 
light, so I kin take ye an’ welcome. An’ I ’ll git 
ye there before the ball game, too. My son ’s to 
play, an’ I want to see it.” So Rodman, pleased 
at the prospect, and with a half-hour on his 
hands, wandered out into the streets to see what 
he could see. 

Winton was not a large town, and did all its 
business in a short length of main street. At the 
first corner, Rodman came upon Harriet and 
Brian, who, standing in a doorway, were talking 
so earnestly that they did not see him. Brian’s 
face was dark with disappointment; Harriet was 
looking at him apologetically. 

“But even if you wait for the next mail,” 
Brian was arguing, “you aren’t sure that the 
package will come.” 

“I know,” answered Harriet, with a kind of 
shrinking firmness. “But I must wait, Brian.” 


DIFFERENT IDEAS OF DUTY 


123 


‘^All right!’’ exclaimed Brian, in that tone of 
vexation which invariably means that all is 
not right. Leaving her abruptly, he hurried 
away. 

Rodman, wandering onward, now discovered a 
bake-shop, whose odors, issuing temptingly into 
the street, reminded him that he was hungry. 
He had walked a long distance, and it would be 
three hours yet before he returned to Nate’s. 
‘‘Git yourself some lunch,” Nate had said. 
Therefore Rodman, entering the shop, presently 
found himself in a seat by the window, satisfying 
his hunger with a dish of baked beans, and look- 
ing forward to a turnover. His position gave 
him the best of chances to study the street. He 
saw Harriet, with a troubled brow, going from 
shop to shop making purchases. He saw Brian, 
in the druggist’s opposite, drinking soda, and 
thence emerging, strolling about, still scowling, 
but smoking a cigarette with an air. Next he 
saw the man who was to “lift” him home stop 
Brian and speak to him. Brian’s scowl, scornful 
at first, rapidly lessened and changed into a smile. 
Leaving the farmer, he walked quickly down the 
street, looking eagerly to right and left. Rod-- 
man thought, “He ’s hunting for Harriet.” 


124 


THE RUNAWAY 


It was in front of Rodman’s open window that 
Brian and Harriet met. She was passing slowly 
hy when she heard her cousin call, and turning, 
she awaited him. Rodman, situated a little above 
their heads, was naturally unseen, and heard 
their first words. 

^‘Oh, Harriet,” began Brian, quickly, ‘‘there ’s 
a man — ” He stopped, as if he did not know how 
to proceed. 

“Mr. Johnson, yes,” answered Harriet. “I 
saw you talking with him. What of him ? ’ ’ 

Brian evidently resolved to continue. “Look 
here,” he said. “That horse of yours is per- 
fectly safe for you to drive alone. Why, he was 
a perfect sheep all the way over.” 

“Yes, he was,” agreed Harriet. Rodman saw 
from her face that she instantly understood what 
Brian was going to propose. As for himself, 
Rodman wondered what he ought to do. Should 
he rattle with the dishes to warn them of his pres- 
ence, or should he go away? Meanwhile the talk 
continued. 

“Well,” went on Brian, with growing embar- 
rassment, “Johnson says he can get me home in 
time for the game. He saw me, and offered to 
take me.” 


DIFFERENT IDEAS OF DUTY 


125 


‘‘Yes,’^ said Harriet, quietly, her eyes on 
Brian’s face. 

Brian grew red, but be persisted. Pelham 
said he needed me to play short-stop. Now don’t 
you think I’d better go?” 

“Why, Brian,” answered Harriet, “I can’t de- 
cide for you.” 

“You’re not afraid to drive home alone?” he 
asked. 

“Afraid?” Harriet flushed. “Certainly not I” 

“Well, then,” decided Brian, “I think I ’ll go. 
I can’t help you, you know, and I can be of use 
to Pelham. I ’ll just go and tell Johnson that 
I ’ll be with him. ’ ’ And eagerly turning, he shut 
out from his sight Harriet’s searching look. 


CHAPTER Vni 


THE WAY HOME 

R odman, still seated at Ms table in the win- 
dow of the bakery, watched Harriet while 
she stood thinking. ^‘Well,’’ he said to himself, 
Ve eavesdropped. But I don’t see what else 
I could do. And that selfish — ” He saw Harri- 
et’s face, a little flushed with feeling, suddenly 
droop with an expression of dismay. She turned 
and went out of sight. Troubled, he rose and 
asked for his bill. 

‘‘You asked about turnovers,” reminded the 
baker. 

“I can’t eat any more,” answered Rodman. 
When he was in the street again, Johnson met 
him. “Say,” he began, “I ’ve got another pas- 
senger, that nephew of Mr. Dodd’s. Can ye be 
ready in about ten minutes f ’ ’ 

“I suppose so,” answered Rodman. 

“I ’ll git the team,” said Johnson. He was a 
good-natured, cheerful soul, and was eager, as 
126 


THE WAY HOME 


127 


Eodman saw, to begin a long talk with bis two 
passengers on tbe chances of the game. But 
Eodman suddenly felt a distaste for such an ex- 
perience. 

^‘Coming to think of it,’’ he said, can’t go 
with you. My suit won’t he ready in time.” 

John looked his dismay. could wait for ye, 
any other day, but — ” 

‘‘Don’t wait,” replied Eodman. “Of course 
you must be home in time. ’ ’ 

“But how ’ll you git back?” inquired the 
farmer. 

“That will be all right,” answered Eodman, 
carelessly. He knew that the chances were 
against his getting a ride home, and that he might 
have to carry his bundles all the way. “Any one 
will take me,” he said. The two separated. 

In the meantime, Harriet was weighing her 
own difficulties. She had told Brian that she 
was not afraid to drive Peter home alone. 
Afraid she certainly was not, but quite as cer- 
tainly she was uneasy. She knew Peter too well. 
On the drive to Winton his first freshness had 
left him, and he had been quiet and steady among 
the sights and sounds of the town, none of which 
happened to be very exciting. But Harriet knew 


128 


THE RUNAWAY 


that after two hours of rest the horse would be 
fresh again, and might take it into his head to 
make trouble. And even if he were not fright- 
ened on the way home, she did not relish the 
idea of the long stiff pull against his unyielding 
mouth. Peter was a hard-bitted horse if ever 
there was one; further, a curb-hit could not be 
used with him, since it excited him. So when at 
last Harriet had got her package at the post-of- 
fice, and at the livery-stable had ordered her car- 
riage, she was of two minds whether to get one 
of the stable-men to drive her home. But there 
was the expense to consider, and the difficulty of 
getting the man back again. Besides, if she did 
this, some one would be sure to ask why Brian 
had not stayed with her. She did not wish to be- 
tray him. Finally, she disliked to give in. So, 
with Peter champing at his bit, she drove out 
alone into the street that led toward home. 

Close by, on the curbstone, stood Rodman, a 
bundle under each arm. He saw her and bowed. 
Harriet immediately stopped. 

Rodman, she asked, ‘^may I take you 
home ? ’ ^ 

His face lighted up. ‘Ht would be a great 
help. ^ ’ 


THE WAY HOME 


129 


^‘Put the bundles in behind, tben,^’ she directed, 
‘‘and get in quickly. Peter doesnT like to 
stand. ’ ’ 

So, while Peter started, backed, sidled, and 
fidgeted, Kodman stowed his bundles under the 
seat and quickly sprang into the runabout. Har- 
riet smiled at him as she gave rein to the horse. 
“Your ankle doesnT seem to trouble you.’^ 

“It ’s entirely well,’’ he informed her. “But 
I ’m glad to be spared the walk home.” 

“And the wrist!” she asked. 

“The doctor warns me to be careful with 
it,” he answered. “But to me it feels quite 
well. ’ ’ 

An electric car came humming along the street, 
and Harriet put her attention on her driving. 
The car, an automobile, and a motor-truck were 
all safely passed, Peter behaving well in answer 
to reins and voice. That is, he behaved well for 
him. But Harriet knew that if once he wished 
to run, she could not possibly control him. His 
mouth seemed made of iron, and she felt that he 
knew how little force she could put upon the 
reins. It was not with very great ease of mind, 
then, that she approached the worst spot in all 
Winton for drivers of mettlesome horses. 


130 


THE RUNAWAY 


Here the road dipped slightly, and passed un- 
der the railroad. A train thundering overhead, 
a hot cinder falling, might very well cause a run- 
away. But the passage was safely made, and no 
train was in sight. Harriet breathed more easily 
as she turned Peter up the hill that ran for a 
hundred yards parallel with the tracks. Three 
minutes more, and she would be above their level, 
and safe in this particular. But she had barely 
begun to feel at ease before she perceived, just as 
Peter began to climb the hill, a puffing freight-en- 
gine, evidently dragging a heavy train, swing 
into sight around the curve and come straight at 
her. 

Harriet shortened the reins, took a firm grip, 
and shifted a little forward in her seat. She 
took pains not to tighten the reins, lest in that 
way her apprehension might be conveyed to 
Peter; but she was ready for what he might do. 
For half a minute he went steadily uphill; then 
the snorting engine drew his attention. He quiv- 
ered, and then swung to the right, where a flimsy 
fence was all that stood between the carriage and 
a steep hillside. 

Harriet touched him lightly with the whip. 
‘^Go on, Peter!’’ 



A fence was all that stood between the carriage and a 

steep hillside 




THE WAY HOME 


133 


Peter went on, but with delicate steps, his head 
turned toward the train. Harriet thought, ^‘Any 
horse would be afraid of that.’’ Then the mon- 
ster was upon them, smoking and roaring. Peter 
tossed his head, and then began to rear, prepar- 
ing to turn about and run. Again she flicked him. 
‘ ‘ Peter, behave ! ’ ’ 

Peter hesitated, dropped upon his fore feet 
again, and for a moment pranced. But this 
chance was gone. With a rush, the engine passed 
him, and all that there was to face was the sway- 
ing, grinding cars. Harriet felt easier. 

Yet the horse disliked the situation. To turn 
about was but to chase the engine; therefore the 
only thing to do was to hurry by this noisy and 
overhanging train. He plunged forward, and 
Harriet was almost dragged from her seat. 

‘‘Peter!” she implored. 

But Peter quickened his pace. The more he 
saw of these cars the less he liked them. His 
speed increased, and, although Harriet gripped 
the reins with all her strength, she felt not only 
that she was less able to brace herself against the 
foot-rest, but also that the reins were slowly slip- 
ping through her fingers. Peter was going 
faster and faster. If he should really run — 


134 


THE RUNAWAY 


At that moment, she perceived that Rodman’s 
hand was just above the reins, ready to take 
them. His voice said, ‘‘You ’d better let me 
help. ’ ’ 

Harriet was unwilling to give in. She held on 
for a moment longer, but again the reins slipped. 
Helplessly she gasped, “Take him!” 

She felt Rodman’s grip close firmly on the 
reins, and instantly the strain was removed from 
her hands, her shoulders, her back, her knees. 
She drew a long breath, and with relief saw Pe- 
ter respond to Rodman’s hand and voice. Where 
the road turned away from the track, the corner 
was sharp, and if taken at full speed might have 
been dangerous ; but by the time Peter reached it, 
he was well under control. In another minute, 
the up-grade began to tell on him. His trot 
slowed, and at last he dropped into a walk. 

Rodman turned to Harriet. “You managed 
him well. ’ ’ 

“Oh,” she responded, “I am not strong enough 
for him. I am so glad you took him. The reins 
were slipping.” 

Rodman nodded. “I saw; otherwise I 
shouldn’t have interfered. You ’d better let me 
drive him till you ’re rested.” 


THE WAY HOME 


135 


‘‘Won^t you drive him all the way?’^ she asked. 
^^Oh, I forgot your wrist.’’ 

‘‘I believe it ’s quite well,” he assured her. 
‘^And I ’ll drive with pleasure.” 

For the rest of the way through the town, 
Peter behaved himself. He was not a bad horse, 
Harriet explained. If only he went to Winton 
oftener, he would get used to town sights. And 
he was so good in answering to the voice ; it was 
quite as important as the reins. The two dis- 
cussed horses and roads and driving with much 
fluency and good spirits; Harriet’s relief made 
her more talkative than usual, and Eodman re- 
sponded readily. He was very — no, not polite, 
hut courteous. The old-fashioned word repre- 
sented his old-fashioned way of listening, and 
bowing, and speaking with a sort of deference 
which Harriet had not yet met with in a hoy, hut 
had seen in older men. Harriet felt sure that he 
had had little to do with girls. One thing she 
noted that pleased her; not once did she see in 
his eyes the hunted look. 

By this time, they had left Winton behind. 
Peter had climbed two long hills, and some of his 
spirit had gone out of him. Now they entered 
the woods, and as they drove along under the 


136 


THE RUNAWAY 


trees, sometimes speaking and again remaining 
silent, Harriet began to feel peaceful. Her 
nerves still tingled from the struggle with Peter, 
and she was glad not to be driving, yet she felt 
quite secure. It was at this moment that they 
were passing the opening of another road which, 
heavily masked with underbrush, joined the main 
road on the left side, coming at an angle from be- 
hind. 

Suddenly she found herself clutching the arm 
of her seat. The air was ringing with an inhu- 
man shriek. The shriek ceased, but there was a 
rattle and a roar almost as loud, and the ground 
shook. Harriet understood — an automobile I 
Out from the side road a great touring-car shot at 
full speed, shrieked again its warning into their 
faces, swayed and rattled at their very side ; then, 
as it swung in a wide curve, its rear skidded in a 
cloud of dust, and fairly brushed Peter’s nose. 
Rolling for a moment like a ship, yet never slack- 
ening speed, the automobile regained the middle 
of the road, and darted away from them. Had 
the carriage been but its length farther on, it 
must have been smashed. 

Peter was instantly in the air. Harriet saw 
him towering over her as if to fall backward. 


THE WAY HOME 


137 


Sharply Eodman cut him with the whip, and the 
horse dropped forward, only to plunge sidewise 
into the bushes. There the carriage, careering 
on two wheels, crashed along through the splin-. 
tering brush; then Eodman, pulling hard upon 
one rein, managed to guide Peter onto the road. 
He spoke sharply and commandingly ; but Peter 
plunged again, half reared, and now shot almost 
off the road on the other side. Harriet, shaken 
and confused, could only cling to the seat, set her 
teeth, and wait. With senses almost bewildered, 
she heard the pounding of the hoofs, the creak- 
ing of the wagon, and the snorting of the horse. 

Then it was all over. With a final plunge, 
Peter steadied, and, after a single attempt to gal- 
lop, took again his trot. He was whirling the 
carriage rapidly along, but the danger had 
passed, and he was again under control. Eod- 
man turned his head toward Harriet, and found 
her with cheeks aflame, her eyes shining, and with 
her lips almost smiling. He smiled himself. 
^‘All right?^^ 

‘^All right she responded. ‘‘That was a 
close shave.’’ 

“It was pretty near to manslaughter,” he re- 
sponded. “But we ’re well out of it.” 


138 


THE RUNAWAY 


’m glad that I was not driving,” she said. 
She knew that she conld not have held Peter. 
But also she knew, with a little thrill of satisfac- 
tion, that she had not for a moment been fright- 
ened. Now she saw Rodman guide Peter to the 
roadside and stop him, with the evident intention 
of getting out. She asked: ‘‘Is anything 
wrong?” 

He answered: “The shaft is broken.” 

So it was. Peter’s plunges had been too much 
for the right shaft, and it had broken about mid- 
way. Rodman leaned forward to examine it. 
The break was clean and slanting, dangerous, 
therefore, for the two sharp points might wound 
the horse. The shaft was needed, also, to control 
him. The break must be repaired before they 
could proceed. 

“I must splice it,” said Rodman. “Lucky I 
have a bundle of string with me. I ’ll have to tie 
Peter and cut some sticks. ’ ’ 

“What for?” she thought; but she kept her 
question to herself. Rodman hitched Peter to a 
tree, and, taking out his knife, went into the 
bushes. Before very long, he returned with four 
straight sticks, each about the thickness of his 
finger, and three feet long. When he laid one of 


THE WAY HOME 


139 


them along the shaft, lapping the break, Harriet 
saw what he meant to do. She stooped down, 
and, feeling a lumpy bundle under the seat, drew 
it out. 

^‘This is your string T’ she asked. 

^^Yes,’’ he answered. ^^Will you give me a 
ball of itr^ 

She opened the bundle, and discovered a half- 
dozen balls of twine. ^Ht ’s very light, she said 
doubtfully. 

‘^We T1 make it do,’^ he answered. Drawing 
out about twenty-five feet of the twine and cut- 
ting it off, he gave her an end to hold. He him- 
self took the other end. ^‘Now twist,’’ he di- 
rected. ^‘We must twist in opposite directions.” 
For some moments they twisted the string; then, 
when it was ready to kink, he came quickly to- 
ward her, gave her his end to hold, and carefully 
smoothed the string as it twisted upon itself. 
The result was a strong cord some ten feet long. 

^^Good!” she cried. 

With this cord Rodman now lashed the four 
rods to the shaft, surrounding the break. With 
other cords, similarly made, he made the splice 
strong. By the time he had used up the ball of 
string, the shaft looked like the property of a 


140 


THE RUNAWAY 


shiftless fanner, but it was dependable. Rod- 
man, putting bis band on it and shaking it, smiled 
with satisfaction at Harriet. 

‘‘That will take us home,’’ be said. He untied 
Peter, beaded him into the road, and, getting into 
the carriage, where Harriet now gave him the 
driver’s seat, be took the reins. Then be smiled 
once more at Harriet. ‘‘Don’t you think we ’ve 
bad enough excitement for one drive?” 

But she, happening to glance downward, bad 
seen the crimson band that showed on bis wrist. 

“Rodman,” she cried, “you ’ve hurt your 
arm ! ’ ’ 

He looked at the bandage. ‘ ‘ Sure enough, ’ ’ be 
said slowly. “It ’s bleeding.” 

“Doesn’t it hurt?” she demanded. 

“I bad noticed it,” be admitted. “But it 
does n’t amount to much.” 

She tried to take the reins from him, saying, 
“You must let me drive.” But be held them out 
of her reach. 

“I am good for it,” be said. “Harriet, the 
horse is in no condition for you to manage.” 

“But your wound!” she cried, distressed. “It 
must have opened again, and you will do yourself 
great barm. ’ ’ 


THE WAY HOME 


141 


‘^Nothing mucli/’ lie answered steadily. 
think the bleeding has stopped. Besides, I shall 
use my left hand. ’ ’ 

She was forced to be content. Looking at his 
face, she saw that he was not pale ; therefore try- 
ing to believe, with him, that the hurt was trifling, 
she endeavored to be cheerful. Thanks, she knew, 
would embarrass him, so she spoke of the woods, 
the drought, the ball game, anything but himself. 
They passed over some miles without incident, 
until it was evident that they were approaching 
the village. They were near the end of the 
woods. 

Eodman turned to her. ‘‘Peter ’s tired now, 
and I donT think he fll make any more trouble. 
It might be noticed if I drove home with you in- 
stead of — of your cousin. If I get out at the 
cross-roads ahead, would you mind driving home 
alone 

Harriet noticed Eodman ’s consideration not 
only for her but for Brian, who so little deserved 
it. But in answer to his question she shook her 
head. “I am going,’’ she said, “to drive you to 
the doctor’s.” 

He smiled in polite opposition. “I must first 
go to Nate’s.” 


142 


THE RUNAWAY 


With a little feeling of helplessness, she real- 
ized that his will was stronger than her own. 
^Wery well,’’ she said. ‘‘I will drive home from 
the cross-roads.” 

Then, as they approached the joining of the 
roads, she felt that she conld not he satisfied with 
saying so little. ^ ‘ Rodman, ’ ’ she began, ^ ‘ I mnst 
tell yon how mnch — ” 

Rodman, suddenly drawing Peter into a walk, 
turned to Harriet. ‘‘Don’t say it,” he inter- 
rupted, looking squarely at her. “I know what 
you want to say, and I ’m glad of it, hut let us 
just agree that I have done a little to repay you. 
No, don’t say any more. Your cousin ’s right 
here by the cross-roads.” 

“Brian?” exclaimed Harriet. She looked 
ahead. A figure had indeed stepped out from the 
bushes, and had advanced into the road to meet 
them. In silence Brian waited, and in silence the 
others approached until Rodman stopped the car- 
.riage before him. 

Brian’s face was red and sullen. There was 
nothing that he could say : he knew that the others 
would understand that he could not go home and 
face the family. He had thought it easy to make 
his peace with Harriet, but it filled him with dis- 


THE WAY HOME 


143 


gust to find her driving with Eodman. He al- 
most wished that he had risked going on alone. 
He thought eagerly for some familiar, offhand 
way in which to claim the driver ^s seat. But in 
spite of himself he could find nothing to say, and 
felt that he made a shamefaced picture, waiting 
to see what would happen. Would that fellow 
give up his place? 

To his relief, Eodman, handing the reins to 
Harriet, jumped from the runabout. Then, as 
Brian prepared to climb up, Harriet moved into 
the right-hand seat, and motioned Brian to come 
around to the other side. He turned to pass in 
front of the horse, and in so doing, his eye fell on 
the clumsily repaired shaft. 

<<Why,^’ he exclaimed, ‘Hhat ’s been broken!” 

Harriet did not answer; she was very indig- 
nant with him. In silence she waited while Brian 
took his place beside her. But then Eodman, 
having taken his bundles from the carriage, 
came and looked up at Brian. 

“We broke the shaft in this way,” he ex- 
plained. “Back there where the road comes in 
from East Winton, an auto swung out in front of 
us, and Peter took us into the bushes, where he 
broke the shaft. But he quieted down; he ’s 


144 


THE KUNAWAY 


pretty good if only you speak to Mm. I mended 
the break with four oak sticks ; they ’re easy 
enough to cut if you bend them at the ground 
and draw your knife across them. The string is 
twine, doubled and twisted; I used a whole ball. 
You can see how I made the splice.” He turned 
to Harriet, and took off his cap. 

^ ‘ Good-by, ’ ’ he said. ‘ ‘ Thank you for the lift. ’ ’ 
He bowed and turned away. 

Harriet, lost in wonderment at his giving so 
much information to Brian, was forced to call 
after him. ‘‘Good-by. You aren’t half as much 
obliged as I am.” He threw her a smile over his 
shoulder, but said nothing. In a moment more, 
he was out of sight among the bushes, and Har- 
riet drove on. 

Not a word did she say to Brian. She was so 
out of patience with him that she scarcely 
thought of his humiliation and his regret. He 
stole glances at her face, and found it unforgiv- 
ing. Then he grew uneasy. Would she tell! 
When they were close to the house, he ventured 
to speak. 

“Harriet, hadn’t I better drive!” 

“No!” she answered firmly. With her little 
chin set determinedly, she drove the remaining 


THE WAY HOME 


145 


distance and turned in at the gate. Standing on 
the piazza were her father and mother, Bob, and 
Pelham. As she stopped the horse, the coach- 
man came and took the bridle. 

Pelham came running down the steps. ‘‘You 
people had the best of it,’’ he cried. “There was 
no game. We waited an hour, and then the other 
team telephoned that they ’d broken down on the 
road.” He helped Harriet from the carriage. 

She was in no mood to respond, but forced her- 
self to do so. “I ’m sorry, Pelham. I suppose 
we had all the fun.” She had suddenly begun to 
wonder how the broken shaft was to be explained. 
Could Brian escape any longer? 

“So you lost nothing, Brian,” went on Pelham. 

Brian answered something, Harriet did not 
hear what, for she was giving the package to her 
father. What she did hear was the sudden re- 
mark of the coachman. 

“You ’ve been breakin’ of the shaft.” 

“H’m!” said Mr. Dodd. “And spliced it too. 
How did it all happen?” 

Shrinking, Harriet looked up at him. WTiat 
should she say? With relief, she saw that his eye 
was fixed on Brian. Indeed, all were looking at 
him. She stepped to the door, but having 


146 


THE RUNAWAY 


reached it, turned with a little feeling of satisfac- 
tion. What would he be able to say? 

Brian was red to his ears. His voice was not 
clear as he answered. ‘‘Back there in the woods 
where the road comes in from the side — the East 
Winton road, I think? — an automobile swung out 
in front of us so quick it startled Peter. He got 
into the bushes, and managed to break the shaft.’’ 

Pelham, who had been examining the splice, 
looked up in admiration. “You did well to stop 
him. And this bit of mending, that ’s well done 
too!” 

Brian forced a smile. “Just four oak sticks. 
They ’re quickly cut when you know how — just 
bend ’em down and cut at the bend. The string 
was too small, but we made it bigger by doubling 
and twisting. ’ ’ 

Harriet choked with indignation. She saw her 
mother, impetuous as a girl, run down the steps 
and kiss Brian. It was on Harriet’s lips to say, 
“Ask what happened at the railroad bridge.” 
But she saw on Brian’s face a hangdog look of 
shame, and, turning quickly, went into the house. 


CHAPTER IX 


SHEELOCK HOLMES, JUNIOB 

P ELHAM and Brian occupied the same room. 

Here, while Brian sat looking moodily out of 
the window, Pelham was walking up and down. 
He had just come from a talk with Harriet. 

‘^Neither you nor Harriet will say anything, 
he complained. ‘‘Now here am I as mad as I can 
be about that automobile — ^why, they might have 
killed you! A little farther, and you ’d have 
been side-wiped, I should say.’’ 

“Looked like it,” answered Brian. 

“Probably it was that big machine that passed 
through town an hour and a half ago. A limou- 
sine, was n’t it?” \ 

“I guess so,” Brian replied. 

Pelham stopped in his walk. “Don’t you 
know?” 

“My dear fellow,” said Brian, “I had my 
hands full with the horse. ’ ’ 

“Of course!” answered Pelham, resuming his 
tramp. “But here I am, getting angry about 
147 


148 


THE RUNAWAY 


that automobile, while you and Harriet are as 
cool as fishes.’’ 

^‘Very natural, I should say,” explained Brian. 
<<We ’re glad enough not to have been hurt.” 

^^Well,” cried Pelham, stopping again, and go- 
ing to his cousin’s side, ‘‘so am I! I ’m just be- 
ginning to realize what might have happened — 
and what it might have meaht. You know — ” he 
hesitated, but then went on, “I ’m beginning to 
wonder what I ’d have done if Harriet had been 
— hurt. You saw how Mother felt!” 

“Yes,” mumbled Brian. His aunt’s kiss still 
burned his cheek like fire. 

“Father doesn’t say much,” went on Pelham, 
“but he was really scared.” Pelham put his 
hand on Brian’s shoulder. “Harriet never could 
have managed the horse herself. Brian, we ’re 
all tremendously obliged to you.” 

Brian rose suddenly. “That ’s all right, Pel- 
ham. Only — well, just let ’s forget it. It ’s — I — 
I — it ’s nothing, you know. ’ ’ 

Pelham looked at his cousin, who was not look- 
ing at him. He clapped Brian on the back, and 
laughed. “You needn’t be ashamed of it, you 
know. Well, we ’ll drop it.” 


SHERLOCK HOLMES, JUNIOR 149 

‘‘No hope of any base-ball!’^ asked Brian, hur- 
riedly. 

“I waiting to do an errand for Father,’’ 
Pelham said. “But I told the fellows I thought 
we could have a scrub game about four.” 

“Good!” cried Brian. 

Bob, whose approaching steps had been sound- 
ing on the stairs and in the hallway, now looked 
into the room. “Pelham,” he said, tossing a 
package at his brother, ‘ ‘ take that over to the of- 
fice, will you? Father and I won’t be through 
with that letter for another fifteen minutes, but 
Brian will mail it, I guess. And then you can 
have your game. ’ ’ He disappeared. 

Pelham, stuffing the package into his pocket, 
started for the door. “That will just give me 
enough time to call a couple of fellows who don’t 
know that we ’re to play. See you at the field, 
Brian. By the way, lend me your knife till we 
meet again. Mine is horribly dull, and I have n’t 
time to sharpen it.” 

Brian went to the bureau. “I never carry a 
knife, you know. Most of us don’t.” Pelham 
stared at his cousin’s back. He knew that by 
“us,” Brian meant the boys with whom he usu- 


150 


THE RUNAWAY 


ally associated. Now lie was not surprised that 
city boys did not carry pocket-knives; what use 
had they for them! But that Brian’s knife was 
in his bureau — 

^‘It ’s pretty dull, anyway,” went on Brian, 
rummaging. 

His knife dull? Pelham stared the more. 
Those oak sticks with which the shaft had been 
spliced had been cut with a sharp knife. 

But Pelham said nothing. He knew that Har- 
riet had no knife, and he wanted time to think. 
When Brian finally produced the knife, he saw 
that it was more pen-knife than jack-knife, 
scarcely capable, unless exceedingly sharp, of cut- 
ting the stout saplings. He opened it and 
thumbed the blade. ‘‘A little better than mine,” 
he said. ‘‘Thanks!” He hurried away, and as 
he went he thought. 

Brian, left to himself, began to pace up and 
down. The awkwardness of his position, forced 
as he was to take the praise that belonged to Rod- 
man, bothered him greatly. It was all very well 
to escape the blame that he deserved, and he was, 
when he thought of this, glad that Harriet had 
escaped from an accident. He believed, also, that 
he could have done quite as well as Rodman, had 


SHERLOCK HOLMES, JUNIOR 151 

lie stayed with Harriet. Indeed, he felt a little 
resentment against the hoy who had so neatly 
taken his place. But he saw the dishonesty of 
his course, and, to do him justice, was uncomfort- 
able in consequence. Further, he was afraid lest 
at any moment he might betray himself. How 
was he to know whether that had been a limousine 
or a touring-car*? 

Quite unconscious, however, of the point that 
Pelham had already found in his armor, Brian 
presently answered his uncle’s call. Mr. Dodd 
was in the writing-room, with a packet in his 
hand. It was long and narrow, tied with a string, 
and well plastered with postage-stamps. 

‘‘Brian,” said Mr. Dodd, weighing the packet 
in his hand, “you see now why I sent you over to 
Winton to-day. Here are those papers that you 
brought, ready to go out again by this afternoon’s 
mail. I want you to take it to the post-office and 
register it.” 

Mr. Dodd was in the habit of explaining to his 
children many of his acts, at least such as they 
themselves saw or helped him in. His belief was 
that whether or not the children always under- 
stood, in the long run they learned a good deal 
concerning matters which were valuable to them. 


152 


THE KUNAWAY 


Following Ms practice, lie went on to explain to 
Brian. 

^‘TMs was a contract that yon brought, and 
after talking it all over with Bob, I have signed 
it. The people that I ’m dealing with are new to 
me, and not knowing just how far this place is 
from the hank, have required the usual deposit to 
be by certified check or else by cash. It ’s too 
late to have the hank at Winton certify my check, 
so I am sending two hundred doUars in bank-bills. 
That is why the package must be registered, and 
must be insured for that amount.’’ 

Brian listened inattentively. He did not see 
how this could affect him, but he answered re- 
spectfully at the end, ‘‘Yes, sir.” 

“The mail doesn’t close for an hour and a 
half,” said Mr. Dodd. “Still, I think if I were 
you, I ’d go directly and get the matter done. 
The postage is correct, and you will have nothing 
to pay.” He gave the boy the package. 

“Very well, sir,” said Brian. He put the 
packet in the side pocket of his coat, and started 
to leave the room. 

Mr. Dodd looked after him. The long envelop 
stood well out of the pocket, and he called a warn- 
ing: “Be careful of it, Brian.” 


SHERLOCK HOLMES, JUNIOR 


153 


‘^Yes, sir/’ answered Brian, and departed. 

As he afterward explained, all he did was to 
go straight to the post-office, stopping for a few 
minutes on the bridge over the mill-stream. It 
was a very natural place to stop ; a hundred peo- 
ple did it daily, for rushing water is always fasci- 
nating. But Brian’s few minutes were longer 
than he thought. Frowning down into the swirl- 
ing eddies, puzzling over the pitfalls that might 
catch him before the incidents of Harriet’s drive 
were forgotten, he restlessly shifted from foot to 
foot. In so doing, he rubbed his coat against the 
railing, until, presently, the envelop slipped from 
his pocket and fell from the bridge. The noise 
of the water covered the sound of the fall, and 
Brian, still frowning, went on his way. 

Before long, on the very spot from which Brian 
had dropped the packet, and also frowning down 
into the water, another hoy stood leaning on the 
bridge’s rail. Rodman had had a bad half-hour 
with the doctor. ‘^This wasn’t a nice cut to be- 
gin with, young man,” the doctor had said. ^Ht 
was nothing hut a mean, jagged tear, and you 
were lucky that it healed as well as it did. Now 
you ’ve partly broken it open again, and I warn 
you that you ’re likely to have a stiff wrist for 


154 


THE RUNAWAY 


life if you do it once more. These ligaments may 
inflame; they were badly scraped to begin with, 
and I warned you to take no liberties with them. 
Tell Nate he ’s to keep you from hard work of 
any kind. Even if the work is light, you are 
not to do anything that involves steady or contin- 
ual gripping with this hand. That means no 
working at his jigger. Is that plain T’ 

^‘Perfectly plain,’’ Rodman had answered 
sadly. Now, looking down into the water, he 
wondered what he was to do. He must earn 
money. 

He was, however, not so much occupied with 
his troubles that he did not notice Brian’s packet, 
which was delicately balanced at the edge of the 
water, six feet below the flooring of the bridge. 
It was in the lower branches of a clump of bushes. 

The writing Rodman could not read. He was 
at first inclined to consider the package a mere 
discarded envelop, and had not yet made up his 
mind to secure it, when all question as to what it 
could be was put at rest by its quietly slipping 
into the water. He saw at once that it was not an 
empty envelop, for instead of floating high, it 
went entirely under, and only slowly came to 
the surface again. Therefore the envelop was 


11^40 



The envelop slipped from liis pocket and fell from the bridge 



SHERLOCK HOLMES, JUNIOR 


157 


full — as, suddenly rousing himself, he recognized 
he should have known from its abundance of un- 
canceled stamps. 

At once he slipped through the railing of the 
bridge, and carefully using his left hand rather 
than his right, swung himself down. He found 
footing on a heavy stone that projected from the 
abutment of the bridge, and holding by the bush, 
looked for the packet. It was still floating, but 
entirely out of his reach. Should he swim for it? 
He was a poor swimmer, and the water was too 
swift. Disappointed, he stood watching the 
packet. 

Then he noticed that it was not yet in the main 
stream, but was held by an eddy which was slowly 
swinging it in a circle. In a moment, he calcu- 
lated, he would have a chance at it, and only one 
chance, for the packet, being on the outer edge of 
the eddy, would not escape the main stream a sec- 
ond time. Doubting how close the eddy would 
sweep it, he stepped into the stream, upon a flat 
rock that lay a foot below the surface. Then, 
holding fast by his left hand, he prepared to reach 
as far as he could, all the time watching the packet 
eagerly. 

As if it knew what it was doing, it tantalized 


158 


THE KUNAWAY 


him by keeping away. The eddy seemed to 
weaken, as a rush of water from the main stream 
shot right into it. The packet pivoted, turned, 
and began to move toward the middle of the cur- 
rent. Seizing his only chance, Eodman trusted 
his whole weight to the bush, stretched as far as 
he could, and seized the packet. For a moment he 
remained extended over the water, looking down 
into the depth of it. To his surprise the packet 
seemed to resist him. Then with a strong effort 
he drew himself upright, put the wet packet 
between his teeth, and clambered up on the 
bridge. 

There he stamped his feet and shook his prize, 
to clear them both of water. Then with his hand- 
kerchief he began drying the packet. The tough 
paper had resisted the water fairly well, and he 
saw that it was scarcely the worse for its sousing. 
Even the ink had hardly began to run. But as 
he turned the packet over, he noticed that one 
comer of it was open. Something beneath the 
surface of the water had caught on the lower 
corner of the envelop, and had ripped it apart. 
From inside there showed clearly the edges of a 
number of yellow bank-notes. 

Now he was indeed glad of what he had done. 


SHERLOCK HOLMES, JUNIOR 


159 


But to whom did the packet belong? Reading 
the writing, he found that it was intended for 
registered mail, and that Mr. Dodd was the 
sender. He put the package in his pocket, and be- 
gan slowly to walk away. 

He had not gone fifty yards when he saw Pel- 
ham and Brian, keen and excited, hurrying to 
meet him. Rodman stood still until they reached 
him; he watched them, saying nothing. Pelham 
eagerly demanded : 

‘ ‘ Have you found anything ? ’ ’ 

‘‘For instance, what?^’ asked Rodman. 

‘‘A package for the mail,’’ explained Pelham. 
‘Hn a brown envelop, tied with string, and 
stamped. ’ ’ 

Rodman drew it from his pocket. Brian 
snatched it from him and looked it over. 

‘Ht’s wet!” he cried. 

just saved it from floating down the river,” 
said Rodman, quietly. 

Brian looked at him angrily. ‘‘And you ’ve be- 
gun to open it! You could have seen who owned 
it!” 

Rodman, turning away from Brian, spoke to 
Pelham: “Something in the water must have 
caught that corner and ripped it open as I took 


160 


THE EUNAWAY 


it out/' And nodding coldly, lie brushed past 
Brian, and went away. 

The two boys watched him go. ‘^His feet are 
wet," said Pelham, presently. ^^So are the bot- 
toms of his trousers. Brian, you 're a grateful 
person!" 

‘^He needn't have tried to open the thing," 
grumbled Brian. 

^‘1 believe him," said Pelham, dryly. “And 
now, what are you going to do ! " 

Brian felt again of the packet, then looked it 
over carefully. “The writing 's still quite clear. 
And I don't believe the envelope is wet through. 
No, the. bills aren't damp at all. We can just 
paste up this end and send it." He looked ea- 
gerly at Pelham. If he did not consent, then 
Brian knew he was in for blame. 

For a moment Pelham studied him shrewdly, 
then he took the packet and looked it over. Fi- 
nally he returned it to Brian. “Well, I should 
take it back to Father. But do as you please." 

“It 's easily patched," argued Brian. “I can 
just get a tube of paste at the store, and some 
brown paper that will look just the same. You '11 
see that I can patch it very neatly. ' ' 

Pelham raised no further objection. He knew 


SHERLOCK HOLMES, JUNIOR 161 

that his father would dislike to have an untidy 
package, such as was bound to result, sent with 
his name. Still, since he felt sure that the pack- 
age would go safely, Pelham merely said : ‘ ‘ Glue 
is safer than paste. Make sure that the stamps 
are on tight.’’ Together they went to the store, 
and when Brian had finished his patching and 
the packet was registered, they hurried to the 
ball-field and joined the game that had already 
begun. 

The only spectator was Rodman. Pelham, feel- 
ing that the boy might very well be discontented 
at Brian’s treatment of him, tried to be especially 
friendly. ^‘You ’re not playing this afternoon?” 
he asked, seating himself beside him. 

Rodman displayed a freshly bandaged wrist. 
^‘Hurt myself again.” 

‘ ‘ That ’s mean ! ’ ’ sympathized Pelham. ‘ ‘ I call 
that tough luck. How did you do it ? ” 

Rodman showed great interest in a ball that 
was just hit. couldn’t help it,” he replied. 

Still, it knocks me out of base-ball for one 
while. And other things. It ’s going to be very 
troublesome to me.” 

Pelham sat thinking. ‘‘He ’s perfectly willing 
to talk to me,” he concluded, “therefore he is n’t 


162 


THE RUNAWAY 


sulky. He just doesn’t want to tell how he did 
it. Moral, don’t ask him again.” He spoke 
aloud : ‘ ‘ This might prevent your working. ’ ’ 

‘^That ’s what I mean,” agreed Rodman. He 
looked at Pelham, frankly quite distressed. 
don’t know what I ’m going to do !” 

In spite of evident feeling, Rodman spoke in 
a low voice, so that others should not hear. ‘ ‘ He 
trusts me,” thought Pelham. It had formerly 
been so difficult to get within Rodman’s guard 
that he was very much pleased. He was about 
to answer when the boys shouted his name, and 
he had to go to his position at first base. 

When he returned at the end of the inning, 
Rodman was whittling, but at the sight of Pel- 
ham, he began to put his knife away. ‘‘Foolish 
habit, whittling,” he said. “Having no wood, I 
use dry grass rather than nothing.” 

“But for grass your knife must be sharp,” re- 
marked Pelham. 

“It’s sharp, and it’s strong, too,” answered 
Rodman. “That ’s the way I like a knife to be.” 

“So do I,” responded Pelham. His attention 
was attracted to the field, and he shouted in ap 
plause of a good catch, even though one of his 
own side was put out. 


SHERLOCK HOLMES, JUNIOR 


163 


‘‘Brian ’s next at bat/’ be said. “Yon know, 
for a city fellow be plays pretty well. He ’s been 
coached. ’ ’ 

“At boarding-scbool?” inquired Eodman. 

“He goes to some sort of a private school,” 
explained Pelham. “Athletics are a part of the 
course. — Oh, well hit ! But he broke his bat — ^my 
bat ! Bill, toss me that, will you?” 

Brian, returning in triumph after making his 
run, found Pelham ruefully studying his bat. 
“Sorry,” he said. “But it’s only cracked. 
Can’t we mend it?” 

“Give me the tube of glue,” said Pelham. 
“Now bend the bat across your knee, so as to open 
the cracks. Not too much!” He squeezed the 
glue into the cracks. “And now for some 
string ! ’ ’ 

But in all the pockets on the field nothing bet- 
ter was to be found than a spool of thread, 
strong of its kind, but too fine for bat-mending. 

“Well,” said Pelham, after thinking, “we can 
make this do.” He cut off a dozen feet of the 
thread and gave one end to Brian. “Now,” he 
said, “we can do with this what you did with 
that cord. Twist ! ” 

But after a half -minute ’s work, it was evident 


164 


THE RUNAWAY 


that something was wrong. ‘‘Here,’’ demanded 
Pelham, at his end of the thread, “are you doing 
this right?” 

“I ’m twisting the same way you are,” an- 
swered Brian. 

“That ’s wrong,” answered Pelham. “Twist 
against me. ’ ’ 

“But that surely can’t be right,” objected 
Brian. 

Rodman spoke. “Both of you should turn with 
the twist of the thread. ’ ’ 

“That ’s better,” cried Pelham, presently. 
“Now bring me your end — hold it! Don’t let it 
go I Take the thread as 1 do with the other hand, 
as near the middle as you can. Now hold both 
ends. — Brian, I should suppose you ’d never done 
such a thing before! But we ’ve got it right 
now.” And Pelham, provided with a suitable 
cord, at last proceeded to wind his bat. 

But this incident meant nothing to Pelham un- 
til, in another inning, he saw the farmer, Johnson, 
come and stand by Rodman’s side, and heard him 
say: “Sorry I couldn’t bring you over from 
Winton. Still, I see ye got here safely. Got a 
lift?” 

“Yes,” answered Rodman. 


SHERLOCK HOLMES, JUNIOR 165 

‘^Who brought yeT’ asked the inquisitive 
farmer. 

Rodman laughed, not easily. ’ll tell you 
some day.” Rising, he left the field, evidently 
with the intention of going back to Nate’s. 

Pelham was surprised. The game was inter- 
esting and the score was even : why, then, should 
Rodman go away? Why shouldn’t he tell who 
had brought him home from Winton? Wky 
should any one conceal such a thing? 

Johnson, talkative, now went to Brian. 
‘ ‘ S ’pose ye found your cousin all right. I was too 
early; jes’ ’s well you stopped off.” 

Brian glanced quickly at Pelham, then impa- 
tiently at J ohnson. ‘ ^ J ust as well, ’ ’ he answered. 
Then he too walked away. 

And Pelham, still surprised, continued to ask 
himself questions. What was it that Brian did 
not want him to know? WRy did he too run 
away from Johnson? WRat had Johnson meant? 
He tried to recall the words, but they had no es- 
pecial meaning. If it had not been for the other 
things that had gone on under Pelham’s eyes, he 
would not have been able to understand. 

But suddenly he saw a glimmer of truth. Rod- 
man had a sharp knife; Brian hadn’t. Rodman 


166 


THE RUNAWAY 


apparently always carried his knife ; Brian 
didn’t. And Rodman knew how to twist a cord 
for making a double string of it, while Brian had 
known nothing of the trick. 

It was Rodman, then, who had spliced that 
shaft? 

Another line of thought : Rodman had that day 
been to Winton. Who had brought him home? 
And Brian — ^what had he to do with Johnson, and 
what had the farmer meant by stopping off”? 

Who had brought Brian home? 

Still another line of thought : why had Rodman 
been unwilling to tell of hurting his wrist? How 
had he done it? 

It was not all clear to Pelham, but he began 
to whistle softly to himself. 

‘‘Pelham at bat!” shouted the boys. 

Pelham still sat and whistled. 

“Pelham at bat!” they shouted louder. 

Pelham went to take his turn, and struck out. 

“You don’t seem to care much,” grumbled one 
of his side. “What are you whistling to yourself 
like that for?” 

But Pelham still whistled softly at intervals, 
and said nothing to any one. 


CHAPTEE X 


ANOTHEK FAMILY COUNCIL 

W AL/’ hesitated Nate, ye don’t mind 
my speakin’ before so many.” 

^‘It ’s about Eodman, isn’t it!” asked 
Mr. Dodd. 

‘‘Yes,” answered Nate. 

“Then,” explained Mr. Dodd, “we ’re all so 
much interested in him that it seems unkind to 
the rest not to discuss him together. The boys 
and Harriet each have a kind of share in him.” 

“All right,” answered Nate. “There ’s no se- 
cret to it, anyway. It ’s jes’ the fact that he can’t 
work for me no more, havin’ hurt his wrist agin.” 

“Indeed!” asked Mr. Dodd. “How did he do 
that!” 

“I don’t know,” replied Nate. “Plain fact is, 
he won’t tell. Says he couldn’t help it, but it 
isn’t entirely his own affair, an’ he can’t speak 
of it.” 

Pelham had glanced quickly at Harriet. With 
an etfort she had kept herself from speaking, and 
167 


168 


THE KUNAWAY 


sat looking at Nate with a face of dismay. Pel- 
ham next looked covertly at Brian. He was 
studying the floor, hut his face was flushed. 

‘‘Eodman jes^ can’t do any o’ my work at all,” 
complained Nate. ‘‘He mustn’t use that hand 
for any heavy or steady grippin’ — and that for 
weeks, probably. He feels awful about it. 
There ’s jes’ one thing that I see he can do.” 

“What is that!” asked Mr. Dodd. 

Nate looked awkwardly at his listeners, then 
made up his mind to proceed. “You know,” he 
began, “that that bookkeeper o’ yourn is a sickly 
sort o’ critter since his operation, an’ somebody 
has to spell him most o’ the time? Sometimes 
you even let Pelham work with him. By that I 
mean,” explained Nate, smiling apologetically at 
Pelham, “that it isn’t a man’s job. Now what 
I propose is that you should make a stiddy job in 
the office for Eodman.” 

Harriet exclaimed with approval ; then she 
sought her mother’s hand, and seemed better sat- 
isfied. Mr. Dodd, with raised brows, glanced at 
his eldest son, then back at Nate. 

“For one thing,” he objected, “the writing 
would be a pretty steady employment. How 
could he use his hand at it?” 


ANOTHER FAMILY COUNCIL 169 

Nate answered promptly: ‘^Rodman ’s left 
handed.’^ 

Mr. Dodd nodded. ‘‘Then again,’’ he contin- 
ued, with a smile, “I ’ve trained the family to 
write well. What kind of a handwriting has this 
youngster of yours ? ’ ’ 

Nate produced a piece of paper. “Here ’s a 
specimen, an’ not written for examination, 
neither. Rodman jotted down some directions I 
gave him the other day, an’ I brought the 
piece of paper along. I call that neat an’ read- 
able.” 

Mr. Dodd, after examining the slip of paper, 
handed it to Bob, who smiled his pleasure at the 
excellent writing. Pelham, silently watching his 
father, saw that his strongest objections were yet 
to come. 

“Nate,” began Mr. Dodd, “I hate to say this, 
but you ask a good deal of me, and I ’ll have to 
speak plainly. I ’ve got to have in my office some 
one that I can trust. This boy is under sus- 
picion. ’ ’ 

Nate returned his glance doggedly. “You 
mean that wallet o’ your nevvy’s!” 

“Yes,” answered Mr. Dodd. 

“It seems to me, Mr. Dodd,” replied Nate, 


170 


THE RUNAWAY 


^^that you ’re takin’ away the boy’s character for 
a mere suspicion. I ask this young man’s par- 
don,” Nate bowed coolly at Brian, ‘^but what I 
can’t help sayin’ is, first how do we know that 
wallet was stole’ at all I Because a feller thinks 
he sees another with a wallet, it needn’t be one 
that ’s been lost. It might be the second feller’s 
own. An’ again, Rodman ain’t got no wallet. 
He hadn’t nothin’ of the kind in his clothes. 
An’ I ’d like to hear what your nevvy ’ll say to 
that.” He looked at Brian. 

Brian did not look at him. saw him with 
a wallet in his hand,” he stated. 

Nate turned impatiently away from him. 
‘‘Well,” he said to Mr. Dodd, “it ’s nateral you ’d 
think o’ this, anyhow. But now see here. 
You ’ve got some property o ’ mine. Now I under- 
stand it ’s customary, when a man takes a posi- 
tion o’ trust, fer his fri’nd’s to put up a guarantee 
that he won’t steal. I ’ll sign a pledge to the 
amount o’ half my savin’s to give back anythin’ 
Rodman makes away with. ’ ’ 

“That is n’t the point, Nate,” began Mr. Dodd. 
Nate interrupted him. 

“I ’ll put up every cent I own fur a guarantee. 
You must have all o’ ten thousand dollars o’ 


ANOTHER FAMILY COUNCIL 


171 


mine. I T1 deed the farm to ye, if ye say so. 
An’ it seems to me that the hoy ’ll never have a 
chance to steal as much property as that amounts 
to.” And Nate, usually so cool, hut now to Pel- 
ham’s amazement plainly excited, with the air of 
having made an unanswerable proposition, sat 
and waited triumphantly. 

With evident reluctance, Mr. Dodd prepared to 
answer. ’ve invested your savings for more 
than twenty years,” he said. ‘‘I don’t believe, 
Nate, you know how much money you ’ve got in 
my hands. But as I began to say, that really is n ’t 
the point. It ’s true that when a man takes a 
position of trust, bonds are furnished for his good 
behavior. But this is n’t that kind of a case, for 
no man is given a position of trust unless he is 
clear of suspicion to begin with. There ’s no par- 
ticular chance that, working in my office, though 
he might often be alone there, Rodman would have 
opportunity to steal much — that is, much that 
would be of value to him. But even that is n’t 
the point. So long as he would have the chance to 
make trouble for me, however slight, although I 
might be willing to put him at work in the mill, 
I ’m not willing to employ him in the office till I 
know more about his honesty.” 


172 


THE KUNAWAY 


‘^"Wlien Father looks like that/’ thought Pel- 
ham, there ’s mighty little more to be said.” 

But Nate, though momentarily daunted, did not 
rise to go. Instead, his glance fixed itself steadily 
on Brian, who, after a moment’s silence, finding 
the others looking at Nate, found Nate’s cold eye 
on him. Eeddening, Brian looked away. 

‘‘If Mr. Brian Dodd,” said Nate, “will with- 
draw that charge about the wallet, as not bein’ 
proved, that ’ll he a step in the right direction.” 

Brian grew redder still. Finding not only Nate 
but all the others looking at him, he looked down. 
“I told Uncle I hoped it would all be dropped,” he 
mumbled. 

“So he did,” agreed Mr. Dodd, when Nate 
looked inquiringly at him. “But, Nate, the 

charge was made in good faith. Both the boys, 

* 

when they came home, believed this young fel- 
low to have found and made off with Brian’s wal- 
let. Brian is good enough to say that he wants 
nothing done about it; but that doesn’t explain 
what became of the wallet.” 

They all sat in silence. Pelham, glancing about 
the circle, was surprised to see that Harriet was 
almost in tears. He would have thought her 


ANOTHER FAMILY COUNCIL 173 

angry, except that there seemed to be no cause for 
it. 

‘^Father,’’ said Harriet, suddenly, and speaking 
with difficulty, think that if Brian wanted to 
say something in Rodman’s favor, he could tell 
you what happened to-day. ’ ’ 

Pelham was learning a good deal concerning 
the uses of watchfulness and a little thought. 
Turning to Brian, he saw in his dismay pretty 
good proof of his own suspicions as to what had 
happened on the way home from Winton. But 
he saw also that not for anything would Brian 
have his uncle know of his desertion of Harriet. 
Besides, he did not know how this could prove 
Rodman’s honesty. Then it flashed over him 
that on this point he himself could have something 
to say. 

^‘Why — I — ” Brian was stammering. 

told you at the time,” said Pelham, quickly, 
‘^that it was best to tell Father.” 

‘‘You told him?” cried Harriet. “When?” 

“When we got the package back, of course,” 
answered Pelham. Harriet, amazed, was about 
to speak ; but Pelham winked at her, and she, sub- 
siding, waited. 


174 


THE RUNAWAY 


Brian, groping for any relief, snatched at the 
chance that Pelham otfered. 

‘‘Yes, sir,’’ he said, still embarrassed, but able 
to speak. ‘ ‘ Pelham was right about it, of course, 
but I didn’t want to tell you how careless I was. 
You know that package for the mail? I suppose 
it was really too long for my pocket, and as I 
stood on the bridge for a few minutes, it fell out. 
When I got to the post-office, it was gone. I met 
Pelham, and we hurried back for it, and met Rod- 
man. He had found it. ” Brian stopped. 

“He waded for it,” went on Pelham. “I think 
it ’s lucky it was n’t swept oif by the current. It 
was n’t very wet, but he tore the envelop in pull- 
ing it out, so that the money showed. ’ ’ 

Nate leaned forward. “There was money in it, 
then?” he demanded. “And yet he gave it right 
up to you?” 

“I didn’t think he was going to,” hesitated 
Brian. 

“How did he know we had a right to it?” cried 
Pelham, hotly. It angered him that Brian, just 
escaping from one difficulty, should hedge so. 
“Of course he made us tell him what we had lost. 
Then he gave it up at once. ’ ’ 

“And Pelham,” asked Mr. Dodd, turning to 


ANOTHER FAMILY COUNCIL 175 

Brian, advised you to bring the package to 
meV^ 

wasn^t sure there was time,’^ explained 

Brian. 

‘‘And you ’d rather I did n’t know of it,” added 
his uncle, dryly. 

Harriet’s face was radiant. “Father,” she 
cried, “doesn’t this prove that Rodman is hon- 
est? He could have stolen the money, Pelham?” 

‘ ‘ Plenty of chance, ’ ’ he answered. 

“Well, Nate,” said Mr. Dodd, “you see the 
value of a family conference. If it hadn’t been 
for these youngsters, you and I might have got 
nowhere. ’ ’ 

Nate turned to him eagerly: “Have we got 
anywhere ? ’ ’ 

“How much does this boy of yours know of 
bookkeeping?” asked Mr. Dodd. 

Nate’s face fell. “So far ’s I know, nothin’ at 
all.” 

“All the better,” cried Pelham. “I ’ll teach 
him our system.” 

Nate looked at him gratefully. 

Mr. Dodd smiled. “Thanks, Pelham. An- 
other advantage of a family conference. Nate, 
bring the boy in on Monday.” 


CHAPTER XI 
beian's opinions 


i ( 


H AREIET/’ invited Brian, ‘‘come out in the 
canoe.’’ 

“As soon as I get my hat,” she answered. 

She wondered a little at this attention from 
Brian. He was older than she by two years, and 
considered himself so much her senior that he had 
felt free to complain, in her hearing, that there 
were “no girls” in the town. Harriet had de- 
cided that he was fond of girls’ society, so long as 
he was admired enough. For some of his weak 
points she saw very clearly. At the same time, 
he was good company when he chose to he ; and be- 
sides, for reasons of her own, she wanted to please 
him. Therefore she consented to go. 

They embarked at the mill-pond, whose level 
was notably higher than the day before. “It ’s 
risen a foot,” estimated Brian. “Why should 
that happen, in this dry weather?” 

Harriet explained: “Father is taking advan- 

176 


BRIAN’S OPINIONS 


177 


tage of the drought to repair the dam of the upper 
basin. The water was very low there, and he 
has simply let it all out into this. ^ ’ 

^ ‘ He must have lots of water, ’ ’ remarked Brian. 

“We have plenty,’’ she answered simply. 
“But we must be careful not to go near this dam, 
for there is a strong current over it. ’ ’ 

They paddled out into the pond, and then be- 
gan a circuit of its northern side. There were 
pond-lilies, and Harriet gathered plenty. Then 
they turned out into the middle of the pond. 
While doing all this they chatted cheerfully, until 
Harriet made a remark that caused Brian to 
frown. 

“You brought only one paddle.” 

“No need of more,” he answered shortly. 

“Father says we ought always to have two,” 
she said. 

Brian was impatient. “Some folks take too 
much care. There are people in the city that are 
scared to cross the street.” 

“At some corners they may weU be,” she 
laughed. “Well, we ’ll remember next time, 
that ’s all.” And she tried to speak merrily of 
other things. 

But Brian sat frowning. “You ’re funny peo- 


178 


THE RUNAWAY 


pie, you country folk,^’ he remarked at last, not 
entirely amiably. ^‘You ’re so sot in your ways 
that nothing can pry you out of them — except,” 
he added with still more feehng, ^Hhe coming of 
some such wonderful person as this Rodman that 
you ’re all so crazy about. ’ ’ 

<<Why do you speak of him so?” she asked. 
‘‘We are interested in helping him. Why are n’t 
you?” 

“I don’t believe in him,” he returned. 

“It was too bad about the wallet,” Harriet was 
beginning gently. Brian interrupted her. 

“I wish I might never hear the word again!” 
he said sharply. “I ’ve said a dozen times that I 
wish the thing was forgotten!” 

“It ’s natural for you to suppose he took it,” 
answered Harriet, “and very good of you not to 
complain of it. But,” she asked gently, “if it ’s 
to be forgotten, can’t it also be forgiven?” 

“Don’t speak like a Sunday-school teacher !” he 
returned. “I suspect the fellow on general prin- 
ciples. I think he ’s shamming, and I ’d like to 
know why. But of course, since he ’s your prop- 
erty — ” 

It was Harriet’s turn to interrupt. “I don’t 
mind your saying that when we are alone, Brian. 


BRIAN’S OPINIONS 


179 


But it ’s an unkind sort of joke when others 
are aroundP’ 

He flushed. Brian did not like to be told that 
he was in fault. ‘^You ’re spoiling him among 
you,” he declared. 

‘‘He ’s been working at the mill office for a 
week,” she said. “The hours are pretty long, 
and the pay low. That does not seem as if 
we are spoiling him. But, Brian, I am glad 
that we got on this subject. 

He was taken aback, and stared at her. 

“I have been wanting to speak to you about it 
ever since we were all talking about Rodman, 
with Nate,” she said. 

“ Yes, ” he answered bitterly. ‘ ‘ When you were 
about to give me away! A lot of good it would 
have done ! ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ I think I was wrong, ’ ’ she agreed. ‘ ‘ But you 
made me very indignant, you were so unfair.” 

“So were you unfair,” he retorted. “You ’d 
already told Pelham all about it — ” 

‘ ‘ Oh, no ! ” she cried. 

“Lucky he spoke up, anyway,” grumbled Brian. 

“I am glad you see it was lucky,” she said, 
“because if you think of it a little further, you 
will realize that you owe Rodman a good deal.” 


180 


THE KUNAWAY 


Brian was struck speechless, and sat looking 
down at his feet. Harriet perceived that her op- 
portunity had come. Could she but make the best 
of it! 

‘Ht doesn’t seem quite worthy of you,” she 
began cautiously. How she wished she was older, 
or not his cousin ! ‘‘You seem ready to persecute 
him. The others notice it already ; Mother spoke 
of it the other day. And they don’t know what 
I know. What would they think of you if they 
did? I haven’t told any one, I don’t mean to — 
hut suppose Johnson should let it out!” 

^‘That fool Johnson!” Brian gritted his 
teeth. ‘‘Look out for your head, Harriet,” he 
said abruptly. ‘ ‘ Bend forward. ’ ’ 

Harriet, knowing that they were well out from 
the shore, was surprised ; nevertheless she obeyed, 
and leaned forward. “All right,” said Brian, 
and she straightened. Between her and him, 
almost touching the sides of the canoe, stretched 
a stout wire. Following it with the eye, she saw 
it rising and falhng, in a series of long dips, as 
it hung from poles that carried it to the shore. 

“Stop!” she said quickly. “Don’t pass it!” 
But Brian, taking the wire in his hand, had al- 
ready passed it over his head as the canoe moved 


BRIAN’S OPINIONS 


181 


on, and was just dropping it behind him. Har- 
riet cried again : 

Brian, that ’s the danger line!’’ 

Brian might have stopped the canoe, or he 
might quite leisurely have turned it about. On 
the broad pond there was no current as yet visi- 
ble, although he knew that the dam was about two 
hundred feet away. Instead of turning the canoe, 
however, he made a hasty and unconsidered 
swing backward with his paddle, intending to 
hook it over the wire, and so to draw the canoe 
back. He reached the wire, indeed, but not as he 
expected. The stiff wire, jarring his arm to the 
shoulder, broke his grip. The paddle was knocked 
from his hand. 

With an embarrassed smile he looked at Har- 
riet. She met his gaze seriously. ‘‘Try to get 
the paddle quickly,” she directed. 

Brian tried to paddle with his hands. The 
work was awkward, but he did his best, impelled 
by a “Quick!” from Harriet. It was nearly a 
minute before he could see that he made any 
headway at all; then he discovered, to his sur- 
prise, that the paddle was also moving. It was 
drifting away from him ! 

Harriet perceived it also. “Try to make the 


182 


THE RUNAWAY 


wire/’ she said. ‘^We are wasting time at this.” 

Brian felt the urgency in her voice, and worked 
on. He had turned and knelt in the bottom; be- 
hind him he knew that Harriet was also vigorously 
using her hands in the water. Vainly he wished 
that there was a backboard in the boat; he had 
brought only a cushion. A parasol might save 
them; but Harriet was always satisfied with a 
shade hat. Brian felt undignified, working in this 
awkward manner, and resentful against some- 
thing for putting him in this situation. With 
his eyes on the wire, however, he paddled on, un- 
til he saw that the wire also seemed moving away 
from him. 

‘^We cannot make it,” said Harriet, quietly. 

Brian took his seat again, flushed and irritated. 
He wished that he had not tried at all. He felt 
stupid, working in that fashion, on this calm and 
sunny pond. 

‘‘You will have to shout,” said Harriet. 

“Why, how foolish!” he protested. “Do you 
mean there ’s really danger?” 

“Can you swim?” she asked. 

He measured the distance to the nearest shore, 
and seeing no cause for bragging, told the truth : 
“Not that far.” 


BRIAN’S OPINIONS 


183 


“ Neither can I,’’ she said. ‘‘Then there ’s 
danger, Brian. Father pnt np the wire five years 
ago, when two girls were drowned at the dam. 
And we ’re floating toward it. Look at the pad- 
dle, and the wire.” 

From his seat in the stem Brian looked back. 
The canoe had doubled its distance from the wire. 
He looked at the paddle. Being lighter, it had 
floated faster yet. He looked at the shore. Close 
by the right-hand end of the dam rose up the first 
of the mill buildings, from which he heard the 
quiet humming of the machinery. No one was 
visible at the windows or on the shore. With fear 
in his heart, he shouted. 

Nobody could have heard him, for no answer 
came. The shores were still deserted, the win- 
dows of the factory blank. He shouted again, 
but again there was no response. He turned to 
Harriet. 

‘‘It ’s no use,” he complained irritably. 

Harriet was steadfast. “Shout again, and 
wave your hands. We ’ll shout together.” 

Her positiveness so far influenced him that he 
obeyed, though he felt like a fool, shouting at 
the stolid landscape and waving his arms at noth- 
ing. He was about to give in, when suddenly from 


184 


THE RUNAWAY 


the roof of the factory there leaped a white jet of 
steam. Across the water there came, and smote 
him in the face like a blow, the scream of the 
steam-whistle. 

‘‘The fire-whistle!’^ exclaimed Harriet. “Sit 
still now. We ’ve done all we can.” 

Now suddenly the fire-escapes of the factory 
were crowded with men, there were heads at all 
the windows, and out of the door poured a 
stream of figures. Others came hurrying around 
the corners of the building. Brian heard shouts, 
and looked with satisfaction on the crowd. In the 
shortest possible time there must have been a hun- 
dred men at the shore, with many more coming. 

He looked at Harriet. “They will get us 
ashore.” 

“How?” she asked. “No one keeps a boat be- 
low the wire. Those men at the dam can do noth- 
ing. We shall go over.” 

His head came suddenly round as he looked at 
the dam. He saw it only as a line that cut short 
the surface of the pond. From beyond it came a 
ceaseless growling of the waters. What was be- 
low there? 

“The fall is ten feet, upon rocks,” Harriet said. 
“Then there are rapids for quite a distance.” 


BRIAN’S OPINIONS 


185 


‘^Only ten feet/^ answered Brian. ^^We shall 
be all right.’’ He continued looking at the dam, 
and at the crowd of men at the end of it. 
hope so,” answered Harriet, softly. 

The men at the shore were very quiet. Why 
were n’t they doing something*? But suddenly he 
saw one of them run out upon the dam, splashing 
as he went. 

There!” he cried triumphantly. 

The man fell. There must have been a rope 
tied to him, for the men on the shore were seen 
hauling him back. 

‘‘No one can do that,” said Harriet. “There 
is a wide top to the dam, but it is of wooden 
planking, grown with moss, and very slippery. 
The current will knock any one over.” 

“He is trying it again!” exclaimed Brian. 

But the man failed again. He had taken 
scarcely two steps when he disappeared, only to 
be hauled to shore again. Then, though Brian 
watched eagerly, no further attempt was made. 
The men on the shore stood apparently watch- 
ing. Once he heard voices raised above the noise 
of the dam, once came the noise of a scream. But 
that was all. 

“Why don’t they do something I” he cried. 


186 


THE RUNAWAY 


‘^TRey can’t,’’ answered Harriet. Brian, I 
think we have less than a minute now.” 

He looked at her. Her cheeks were a little 
pale, but her face was quite calm. She was look- 
ing at him earnestly. I said anything unkind 
just now, I am very sorry for it.” 

<<Why, Harriet,” he protested, ‘‘we shall get 
through all right!” 

“I hope so,” she answered. “I hope at least 
that you do. But if you do and I don’t, please, 
Brian, act differently toward Eodman.” 

They were her dying words, soberly and truly 
impressive. But he flung up his arms in irri- 
tation. 

“I tell you it isn’t as bad as you think!” he 
insisted. 

The men at the shore were still quiet. Brian 
looked at the dam. The canoe was not more than 
fifty feet away, and the current was bearing it 
steadily on. Brian could see the brown water 
turn pale green, and then curl over at the far- 
ther edge. The growling of the fall was now a 
muffled roar. What should he see when he looked 
down from the top of the dam? 


CHAPTER XII 


TWO KINDS OF BKAVEEY 

P ELHAM and Rodman were working to- 
gether in the office of the mill. Mr. Dodd 
was away, hut Bob occasionally went in and out. 
Through a closed door sounded the murmur of 
the machinery, and through the open window came 
the rumble of the dam. The two boys sat side by 
side at the bookkeeper’s desk, and while one read 
items the other checked them. 

‘^You Ve got beyond me,” said Pelham, at a 
pause in the work. Ve learned a couple of 
tricks from you already. But I can help make 
the work go faster. — ^What was that!” 

Rodman, absorbed in his work, had been mur- 
muring his thanks. heard nothing,” he said. 

Pelham returned to the work. ‘^Thought I 
heard some one calling. Ready! Twelve bolts 
uncut corduroy. Twenty-seven — Excuse me, 
Rodman, I must see what that galoot is shouting 
for.” 


187 


188 


THE RUNAWAY 


He went to the window, while Rodman rested 
his elbow on the desk and waited. 

Pelham shaded his eyes against the snn. 
‘^They We got no business to be there,” he said, 
frowning. ‘‘Are they fooling, or do you sup- 
pose — ” 

“What is it!” asked Rodman. 

“He ’s waving his arms,” cried Pelham. Then 
he turned and sprang to the wall, where hung a 
rope. His face was white as he looked at Rod- 
man. “It ’s Harriet and Brian ! ’ ’ He threw his 
weight on the rope, then pulled again and again. 
From overhead sounded the hoarse and insistent 
blasts of the fire-whistle. 

The door burst open, and Bob dashed In. He 
saw Pelham at the rope. “What is it?” he de- 
manded. 

“Harriet and Brian are drifting to the dam! 
They ’re almost there!” He pointed toward the 
window, but Bob did not look. Instead, he turned 
to the weaving-room, where the noise of machin- 
ery had suddenly ceased. His great voice rang 
through the silence. 

“No fire! Danger on the pond!” 

In the room overhead was heard stamping, call- 


TWO KINDS OF BRAVERY 


189 


ing, and running. Feet were pounding on the 
stairs. Bob, snatching open the door, rushed out, 
shouting Ropes!’’ Pelham and Rodman fol- 
lowed. From the other buildings, from their own, 
streams of men were issuing, and with shouts and 
calls rushed toward the dam. 

But when they reached it, there was silence. 
The men formed, three deep, at the edge of the 
pond, and looked helplessly at the water. A hun- 
dred and fifty feet away glided the little canoe 
broadside toward the dam, and they stared at it, 
fascinated. 

The picture was so peaceful! There was not 
a flaw on the clear surface of the pond, the fields 
rose softly green beyond, and cattle grazed on the 
farther shore. No clouds were in the sky. It 
was a perfect summer’s day, a beautiful scene. 
No sign of danger overhung the little craft that 
rode so steadily upon the pond. Ah, but the men 
saw the advance of the canoe toward the edge of 
the fall; they saw the curling water running 
swiftly across the platform of the dam ; they knew 
how remorselessly it flung itself, and would fling 
any burden, down the steep drop upon the sharp 
rocks beneath. No wonder that breaths were 


190 


THE RUNAWAY 


sharply drawn, no w^onder that a sob rose 
throughout the crowd when suddenly a voice 
called : 

‘‘It ’s the young leddy!’’ 

For every man there knew Harriet, admired 
her young freshness, liked her shy friendliness, 
and prized her higher than any girl in the village. 
They knew her character well, from much discus- 
sion of it. There was no silliness about her, she 
dressed simply — as did all the Dodds, except this 
young sprig from the city — and she was inter- 
ested in the workmen’s wives and children. 
There was dismay in all their hearts as they 
learned who rode so quietly to her death. 

Not one man doubted the result. The fall was 
too high, the rocks too many, the rapids too fierce. 
They had heard Bob shouting his directions for 
men to take boat below the rapids, to be ready to 
help; but no man believed that any one would 
come through alive, except by a miracle. Rest- 
lessly the crowd swayed to and fro, wishing to 
act, but seeing no means. 

Then Bob’s voice was again heard, calling 
“Make way!” Hatless and coatless he pushed to 
the front, a rope round his waist; he was giving 
directions to the man who, carrying the coil of the 


TWO KINDS OF BRAVERY 


191 


rope, was following him. ^‘Pay out as I go — ’’ 
The men raised a feeble cheer. They knew he 
would fail. 

There was a broad top to the dam, made of 
boards, slightly sloping, and slimy with weeds. 
Over it the current, suddenly becoming swift, ran 
strongly. Though there was scarcely a foot of 
water at the rim no man could stand against it. 
But bracing himself for the attempt, Bob ran 
down the slope that led to the dam, and tramped 
into the water. Three, four, five steps he took, 
successful where the water was slowest. Then 
his feet slipped from beneath him, and he was 
swept over the edge. The rope held his head 
above water, and the men drew him quickly to 
shore in spite of the buffeting of the current. 

Breathless, blowing, Bob stamped his foot. ‘‘A 
pole ! ” he gasped. ^ ^ I can T make it without one. ^ ’ 

‘‘Mr. Bob!’^ cried Pat Cudahy, the big Irish- 
man who managed the rope, “you can’t make it at 
all!” 

Bob stamped his foot. “We’ll see!” He 
snatched the pole that was brought him, and once 
more made the venture. This time he took two 
steps farther than before, and then vanished in 
the swirl of water at the foot of the dam ! 


192 


THE RUNAWAY 


‘‘The young boss is gone!’’ shouted one of the 
men. 

“Shtand aside!” roared Cudahy, pulling 
fiercely on the rope. Bob’s head emerged from 
the water, and once again he was hauled ashore. 
Scarcely able to stand, he coughed his lungs free 
of water. He gazed bitterly at the dam. Bob 
had been among the lumbermen. Give him a pair 
of calked boots and a pike-pole, and he could walk 
the dam, but as it was — ! 

“Another pole!” he demanded. 

“You can’t make it now,” said Cudahy, sup- 
porting him. “If you could walk it, they ’d be 
over before you could reach them.” 

Bob sprang erect. ‘ ‘ Another pole ! ” he panted. 
But there was despair even in his defiance of dan- 
ger. He knew he could not make it. 

“If the men will make way, I ’ll try my luck,” 
said a voice. 

Bob turned. Quite unobserved, an automobile 
had run into the mill-yard, and its driver, stand- 
ing in his place, was looking down at him. It was 
a young man, well-dressed and smiling. His car 
was massive, double-seated, compact. 

“The dam is wide enough for the machine,” he 


TWO KINDS OF BRAVERY 


193 


said. ‘‘And tRe car is too heavy to be pushed 
over. ’ ’ 

Hope sprang np. Boh turned to the men, 
‘ ‘ Make room ! ’ ’ he shouted. The men, also shout- 
ing, speedily cleared the path. The young man 
sat down behind his wheel. Then he looked at 
Bob. 

“I T1 need you, I think.” 

Bob sprang into the seat behind him. 

Pelham, gazing with all his eyes as the machine 
moved slowly forward, saw the striking contrast 
between the two young men. Bob was grimly de- 
fiant of danger and death; he knew their power, 
but he despised them. The stranger, still smil- 
ing as he glanced down the sloping runway, was 
jauntily indifferent to anything that might hap- 
pen. A puff of smoke issued from between his 
lips. The fellow was smoking a cigarette! 

‘ ‘ They T1 be too late ! ’ ’ cried some one. 

The big machine purred loudly, and suddenly 
dashed at the water. Eight and left shot wide 
sheets of spray. The men held their breaths. 
Then, as the car churned onward, rose cries of ad- 
miration. 

“Well done! — He hasnT a foot to spare, but 


194 


THE RUNAWAY 


he doin’ it! — Stiddy as a rock! — Losh, yon ’s a 
gran’ machine! — Man, was iver the loikeT’ 

The powerful automobile, heavily built, low 
hung, never wavered in its steady advance. 
Though it rocked a little, it held true to the line. 
But against the strong resistance it went slowly. 
The shouts died as suspense seized all hearts. 
Would it be in time! For moving always faster, 
the light canoe was now gliding swiftly toward 
its fall. It was not its own length from the dam. 

He ’ll make it! He won’t! He will!” 

Then one loud yell fairly burst from all throats. 
For the automobile had thrust itself between the 
canoe and the greedy falls ! 

The men saw Bob, leaning forward, seize the 
canoe; they saw Harriet first, then Brian, clam- 
ber to the machine; they shouted aloud again. 
And then once more there was silence and sus- 
pense. 

The automobile had stopped. The farther bank 
was a crag up which it could not climb. It must 
return. Could it start! Could the driver steer 
it back! They knew that would be a feat beside 
which the outward trip was a mere nothing. 

The stranger rose in his seat, and leaning on 
the back, looked toward the shore. The canoe, 











TWO KINDS OF BRAVERY 


197 


thrust by Bob, floated away. Then the big ma- 
chine began to move. There was a single shout 
of admiration, and again fell silence. The men 
knew that the stranger was guiding the machine 
with but a single hand, quickening the speed, 
steering on the narrow way. Every chance was 
in favor of some slight turn to right or left, when 
some irregularity of the track would shoot the 
machine from the dam. It swayed, and the men 
groaned. It rocked, and they held their breaths. 
But steadily, certainly, it came onward until the 
shore was near. 

‘^Give me room to fling the rope av they need 
it!’’ cried Cudahy. 

But there was no need. The automobile 
reached the upward slope, and shot out of the 
water. Suddenly freed from resistance, it roared 
up the runway. Then, subsiding, it quieted and 
stopped. The driver threw his cigarette away. 

‘^All ashore!” he said, laughing. 


CHAPTER XIII 


PURSUIT 

P ELHAM strove in his sleep against a sum- 
mons. His heavy slumber was too pleasant 
to relinquish. At length, however, he yielded, 
and slowly opened his eyes. Had any one called 
him? 

In the other bed lay Brian, and Pelham heard 
him murmuring: ‘‘No need of another paddle, I 
tell you.’’ 

“He must have waked me,” thought Pelham. 
“But it seemed like something else.” 

“We shan’t get hurt, anyway, ” muttered Brian. 
“Does n’t make enough noise to wake me,” Pel- 
ham decided. 

Brian snarled suddenly : “ I won’t be drowned ! ’ ’ 
Pelham lay in doubt. The room was bright 
with moonlight as he looked about it. There was 
no sound in the hall outside, or in all the house. 
He turned over on his side, and was just yawn- 
ing comfortably, when a sharp rapping at the win- 

198 


PURSUIT 


199 


dow made him start upright. Some one had 
thrown pebbles ! He sprang out of bed and went 
to the open window. Below it, on the garden path, 
stood a dark figure, gazing upward. 

^^Who is itr^ whispered Pelham. 

The answer was cautious, but clear: ^Ht ’s me 
— Nate. Is that cousin of yourn asleep P’ 

Pelham turned and listened. He heard Brian 
muttering. ‘^Yes,” he answered. 

‘ ^ Don T wake him, ’ ’ cautioned Nate. ‘ ‘Pelham, 
will you come with me? I want you and your 
horse and cart.’’ 

“What for?” asked Pelham, amazed. 

Nate seemed to stretch up on tiptoe; his whis- 
per, lower than before, was still clear. “Rod- 
man ’s gone.” 

“Gone!” cried Pelham. 

“ ’S-sh!” replied Nate. “Yes. He ’s got 
nearly an hour’s start of me, an’ I must ketch 
him.” 

“What time is it?” asked Pelham. 

“Nearly eleven.” 

Pelham thought rapidly, excited at the situa- 
tion. His father and mother were out ; they had 
not expected to return until after midnight. 
Nevertheless, they would be willing that he should 


200 


THE RUNAWAY 


go with Nate. He knew where the key of the sta- 
ble was kept. 

‘^Be down in five minutes,’’ he said. 

A voice spoke suddenly, from somewhere. 
‘^Harness the light two-seater. I ’m coming 
too.” 

^‘Harriet!” exclaimed Pelham. He knew that 
she was at her window. 

^^Good!” exclaimed Nate. ‘^Now we ’re sure 
of him. ’ ’ 

Pelham frowned as he thought. As an older 
brother, ought he to prevent her going? Ex- 
cited and eager to succeed, influenced by Nate’s 
encouragement, he decided to let her come. 

‘‘Quick, then!” he whispered. 

He turned to the room. Tossing and mutter- 
ing, Brian was still asleep. In the moonlight Pel- 
ham needed no candle. It was but a few minutes 
before he crept silently down-stairs, and a few 
more before the horse was harnessed. As they 
led him quietly out of the stable, Harriet ap- 
peared. 

“I wasn’t asleep,” she said. “I heard Nate’s 
news. I know I can help.” 

“Of course,” agreed Nate. “All aboard!” 

In less than ten minutes they had passed the 


PURSUIT 


201 


last houses of the town. Harriet, dressed in dark 
clothes, was on the back seat; Pelham was driv- 
ing. In front rose the black mass of the woods. 
‘^How are you sure/’ Pelham asked, ‘Hhat this is 
the way he took?” 

‘^Two reasons,” answered Nate. ‘‘Fust it ’s 
the quickest to the railway. Second it ’s the only 
way he knows.” 

“When did you learn he ’d gone?” asked Har- 
riet. 

“Hardly a half-hour ago,” answered Nate. 
“Soon after supper I went down to the town. He 
asked me how long I sh’d be gone, but I could n’t 
tell him, not knowin’ whom I sh’d meet. When 
I got back, I looked into his room, as usual. 
Someway I suspected the looks o’ his bed.” 

“He ’d meant you to think he was there?” 
asked Pelham. 

“I s’pose so. Anyway, the clothes was humped 
up. But when I looked closer, he wasn’t there, 
nor had n’t been to bed at all. On the bureau was 
a note.” Nate stopped. 

“What did it say?” asked Harriet, softly. 

“ Jes’ good-by, an’ thank ye, an’ that he ’d come 
back some day.” Nate choked, and the others 
were silent. Presently he said: “If I thought it 


202 


THE RUNAWAY 


right to let him go, I would; but I can’t think he 
needs to go. Pelly, what did you say to him this 
arternoon?” 

‘ ^ I r ’ asked Pelham. ^ ‘ I did see him, of course, 
when I was helping him with the bookkeeping, 
after all that happened this morning. — But I 
don ’t remember that I told him anything to worry 
him.” 

‘^He come home from the mill mighty trou- 
bled,” said Nate. ‘‘He told me all about that 
out-o’-town feller an’ his autermobile a-gittin’ 
Harriet an’ Brian off the dam — and a good piece 
o’ work as ever I heard of. Feller ’s named Lee, 
ain’t he?” 

“Wilson Lee,” answered Pelham. “WTiy, I 
can’t remember that I told Rodman anything to 
upset him. Of course, when I came back after 
lunch, we discussed Mr. Lee, and I said that he 
was to stay with us for a while.” 

“Sho!” exclaimed Nate. “Goin’ to stay with 
ye?” 

“He was coming to call on Father, anyway,” 
explained Pelham. “He ’s interested in our sort 
of work, and wanted Father to show him some of 
our methods. ’ ’ 

“That ain’t a request that your father ’d be 


PUESUIT 


203 


particularly glad to say ^yes^ to, ordinarily,’’ re- 
marked Nate. 

‘^Father ’d do anything for him, though,” an- 
swered Pelham, warmly. ^‘So would we all. — 
But except for this, Nate, I can’t remember say- 
ing to Eodman anything especial. Why do you 
ask?” 

^‘Eodman was mighty thoughtful all supper,” 
answered Nate. ‘‘I couldn’t git him out o’ him- 
self nohow. Once he began, sort o’ sudden, ‘Pel- 
ham says — ’ Then he shut up, an’ pretended he 
hadn’t really been goin’ to say anythin’.” 

“If you don’t know what ’s on his mind,” asked 
Harriet, “how shall you be able to stop him?” 

Nate thumped his knee. “Between the three of 
us, we ’ll get him ! ” he declared. 

They drove on in silence for nearly an hour. 
Although the road was arched by trees, the moon- 
light filtered through, making a twilight in which 
the way could be seen. Pelham sat wondering 
what he could have said that drove Eodman to 
this action. He could think of nothing at all. 
They turned a comer in the road, and there ahead 
of them lay a vista that ended in a stretch of open 
moonlight. The trees arched themselves like a 
frame, and at the bottom the three saw the black 


204 


THE RUNAWAY 


outline of a figure, trudging onward. Nate 
grunted, and Harriet gave a little cry of relief, 
was afraid — ” she said. 

Pelham urged the horse. He wanted to over- 
take Rodman before he should again reach the 
shadow, and he succeeded. As the carriage rap- 
idly overtook the hoy, Rodman stepped aside to 
let it pass. It stopped beside him, he took one 
look at its occupants, and then recoiled. 

If he thought of flight through the bushes, there 
was no time. Nate leaped out and laid a hand on 
his shoulder. Rodman, he said in a shaking 
voice, ^‘we Ve come for ye.’’ Harriet, noting the 
tremor, realized that Nate, too, had feared lest 
Rodman should escape them. 

Rodman stood looking down. can’t go 
back,” he said, very quietly. 

‘‘What ’s wrongP’ asked Nate. “Have I done 
anything to send ye away?” 

“No!” cried Rodman, flashing at him a look of 
eager gratitude. “You have n ’t — ^you could n ’t ! ” 

“Have I?” demanded Pelham, leaning from his 
seat. 

“Nor you, nor Harriet, nor any one,” ex- 
claimed Rodman with deep feeling. “But I must 
go!” 


PURSUIT 


205 


Harriet spoke quietly to Pelham. ‘‘Drive for- 
ward, and leave him with Nate.’’ Pelham obeyed, 
drove forward for a little distance, turned the car- 
riage about, and stood waiting. Together they 
watched the other two talking in the moonlight. 
Nate’s tall and spare figure gesticulated ear- 
nestly; occasionally they heard his urgent tones. 
Rodman, despondently standing, answered with 
few words, and steadily shook his head. 

At last Harriet slipped into the front seat and 
took the reins from her brother. “Nate will 
fail,” she said. “Pelham, go and see what you 
can do.” 

Pelham went, and she watched the three. It 
was two against one now, ardently arguing, plead- 
ing, explaining. Pelham’s clear young voice 
mingled with Nate’s as the two scarcely gave each 
other time to speak, or Rodman to answer. But 
still Rodman’s head drooped, and still he shook it 
almost desperately. At last, throwing up his 
hand in despair, Nate left the two boys and came 
to the carriage. 

“We can’t do nothing with him!” 

‘ ‘ Then, ’ ’ said Harriet, ‘ ‘ send him to me. ’ ’ 

While Nate and Pelham waited in the back- 
ground, Rodman came slowly. He lifted to Har- 


206 


THE RUNAWAY 


riet a face that was full of distress, almost of 
agony. The kindness of the others had appealed 
to the depths of his nature, and to refuse them 
had taken all his courage. Harriet was not sur- 
prised to see tears on his cheeks. 

‘‘Don’t go over it all again,” he begged. 

She had made up her mind that the others had 
been using the wrong method. He was steeled 
against requests, and against appeals to his af- 
fections. So she spoke firmly. 

“Rodman, I have just two things to say. First, 
this going away is cowardly. ’ ’ 

“Cowardly!” he cried. The distress vanished 
from his face, and his drooping shoulders squared 
themselves. He looked her straight in the eye. 

Harriet did not flinch. “If there ’s anything 
you ’re afraid to stand and meet, it ’s cowardly 
to run away.” 

Rodman gripped his hands on the wheel. “You 
don’t know what it is 1” 

“I don’t need to,” she replied. “And in the 
second place, to go away is ungrateful. ’ ’ 

This did not seem to reach him. “Well,” he 
said, “I shall come hack.” 

She saw only one thing to say. “Perhaps by 
that time we shan’t care.” He started as if he 


PURSUIT 


207 


had been spurred. ’d think better of a boy 

who would stay and do bis duty right here.’’ 

He gripped the wheel again. ‘‘My dutyU’ 

“If you owe us anything/’ she explained, “you 
owe us your services now, when Father needs 
them. Nobody can do quite what you can.” 

His hands fell suddenly to his sides; she saw 
that he had clenched them tight. A new expres- 
sion came to his face; he looked almost solemn. 

‘ ‘ That is true ! ” he said in a hushed voice. It 
was as if he had made a discovery. “No one can 
do what I can.” 

Surprised that her appeal had struck so deep, 
yet very thankful, Harriet spoke more persua- 
sively. “Then will you run away?” 

He looked at her as if for a moment he had for- 
gotten her presence. “You don’t know how hard 
it will he.” 

He had practically said that already. She per- 
mitted a little impatience to show in her voice. 
“We will help you.” 

“Nobody can do that!” he cried. But now he 
was not daunted. He pressed a little closer to 
the wheel. “Harriet, will you believe in me, 
whatever happens?” 

“What do you mean?” she asked, surprised. 


208 


THE RUNAWAY 


She wondered if after all there was some real 
thing of which he was afraid. Surely, though he 
might have lost his memory, his mind was clear, 
and he seemed to know what he was talking of. 

‘‘I cannot tell you,’^ he replied. ‘^But if I go 
back, and do my best, and perhaps fail, will you 
think the best of me!^’ 

There was a little quiver in his voice that sud- 
denly moved her. She had been sitting upright, 
but now she bent toward him. ^‘Why, Rodman, 
you may be sure I will ! ’ ’ 

‘^Very well, then,” he answered quietly. 
will go back. ’ ’ 

‘^Get in beside me,” she directed. He clam- 
bered in, and they drove toward the others, who, 
with one joyous cry, hastened toward them. Rod- 
man, with a long breath, turned toward her. 
’m in for it now!” 

donT understand — ” she was beginning. 

He interrupted her. ‘H ’m glad you don’t, and 
I hope you won’t. Perhaps some day — ” 

Nate sprang into the carriage, and Pelham after 
him. Each gave Rodman a thump upon the shoul- 
der, but they said nothing. Harriet snapped the 
whip, and the willing horse started forward. In 
silence they plunged again into the dusky woods. 


PUESUIT 


209 


At the crossroads Nate and Eodman left the 
others. They disappeared in the path, Nate with 
a hand upon the boy’s shoulder. Pelham, with 
shining eyes, turned to his sister. 

‘‘I don’t know what you said,” he began, ^^but 
it was bully. You sat up stiff, and you looked 
him in the eye, and you gave it to him straight. 
Harriet, I ’m proud of you ! ’ ’ 

She felt her cheeks grow warm with pleasure. 
‘^Then I ’m glad I came. — But, Pelham, can you 
guess what is so terribly on Eodman ’s mind?” 

He answered thoughtfully. ‘^Nate thinks it ’s 
some trick of his memory, that comes back and 
bothers him, but that there isn’t anything real. 
I don’t know what to think.” 

Harriet spoke decidedly. know there ’s 
something real.” 


CHAPTER XIV 


INVESTIGATIONS 

W HEN Mr. Lee entered tlie breakfast-room 
be found an indulgent family waiting for 
bim. A guest wbo bas just saved tbe lives of two 
members of tbe bousebold can very well be ex- 
cused if be is late for breakfast. And be was 
only fashionably late. It was a pleasant char- 
acteristic that be bad tbe air of fashion. His 
clothes and bis automobile were not only of tbe 
very best quality, but seemed naturally to belong 
to bim. His carriage and bis glance were self- 
possessed yet unassuming, frank but not too 
familiar. 

‘‘He looks you in tbe eye,” thought Pelham, 
“as if you and be bad a joke together.” 

And Mr. Lee apologized debgbtfuUy for being 
late, and was not particular about bis breakfast, 
except that be was hungry. Mrs. Dodd smiled to 
herself as she poured bis coffee. 

“You said you bad to be busy to-day, Mr. 
Dodd ? ^ ^ inquired Mr. Lee. 

210 


INVESTIGATIONS 


211 


am sorry to say that both Bob and I must 
be,’’ answered Mr. Dodd. ‘^Some retailers are 
coming to place their fall orders, and I must spend 
the whole day with them. Bob also has extra 
work. ’ ’ 

Mr. Lee smiled at Bob. ‘‘I shall have to show 
you my machine some other day. ’ ’ 

^‘But if you want to make a beginning of study- 
ing our processes,” said Mr. Dodd, ‘‘Pelham can 
take you over the buildings. ’ ’ 

“Good!” exclaimed Mr. Lee. “No, my dear 
Mrs. Dodd, these eggs are just right ; I must have 
nothing cooked especially for me. — Pelham, 
shan’t I be taking your time?” 

Pelham beamed at him. ‘ ‘ I should love to show 
you round. ’ ’ 

“We all work in the mills,” said Bob. “On a 
first trip, Pelham can show you as much as any 
one.” 

“And perhaps afterwards,” added Mr. Lee, 
“you two boys will take a ride with me.” 

Even Brian grinned at that. Harriet felt a bit 
out of it, but Mr. Lee turned to her. “And then 
this afternoon, when it ’s cool, maybe you can per- 
suade your mother to let me take both of you out 
with me.” 


212 


THE RUNAWAY 


‘‘Mother,’’ cried Harriet, clasping her hands, 
“may I ride in front!” 

Mrs. Dodd laughed as she gave her permission. 

There was no doubt that Mr. Lee was welcome 
to the Dodd family. 

Pelham took him over all the buildings, showing 
every process, from the first to the last. Mr. Lee’s 
interest was keen ; his eye lighted, and he paused 
often to study details. Everything that Pelham 
told him he understood in a flash, and he asked 
more questions than the hoy could answer. In 
every room, too, he held a kind of reception, the 
men leaving their machines to shake his hand and 
thank him for saving the “young leddy.” When 
the last process of the manufacture had been 
shown, he turned to Pelham with something like a 
sigh. 

“Ah, I should have had a technical education!” 

“You went to college, sir!” asked the boy. 

Mr. Lee twinkled as he shook his head. “I 
was not allowed to stay. — There is nothing 
more to show me!” 

“Only the office,” said Pelham. 

“WTiere you keep the books!” asked Mr. Lee, 
smiling at him. 

“Well,” acknowledged Pelham, “the book- 


INVESTIGATIONS 


213 


keeper ’s not yet well from an operation, so lie 
scarcely works half time. I used to help out, hut 
Eodman does that now.’’ 

Mr. Lee was walking toward the door over which 
was the office sign. ‘‘And who is Rodman?” he 
asked. ‘ ‘ A cousin, perhaps. ’ ’ 

“He ’s an odd case,” explained Pelham. 
“He ’s just about my age, though we can’t tell ex- 
actly, because he does n’t know his age.” 

“A strange boy,” said Mr. Lee. “A found- 
ling?” 

“In a sense,” said Pelham. “He turned up 
here some weeks ago, injured. He has lost his 
memory. ’ ’ 

“Well, well!” exclaimed Mr. Lee. “And may 
I see him, and the office?” He paused at the 
door. 

“Certainly,” said Pelham. He opened it for 
the other to pass in, then followed him. 

The office was a large room, airy and bright, 
with windows opening on the pond. The visitor 
looked around it with pleasure. “Comfortable 
here.” 

Then Rodman, slipping down from his high 
stool, came out from behind his desk. “Good 
morning, sir.” 


214 


THE RUNAWAY 


Pelham, behind Mr. Lee, could not see his face, 
but he noticed his start. And he heard the change 
in his voice to sudden and deep feeling. 

‘‘You here!” 

Rodman stood as Pelham had never seen him 
before, stiff as a stick. His look was steady, in 
fact stony and expressionless. “Beg pardon, 
sir?” 

Two strides, and Mr. Lee stood over the hoy, 
holding him by the shoulders. Pelham could now 
see neither of their faces, hut he saw that the clasp 
was gentle. “So here ^s where you Ve been!” 

Rodman drew away, and turned to Pelham. 
“If you T1 explain about me — ” He went back to 
his desk and clambered on his stool. 

“Explain?” cried Mr. Lee, staring at him. 
But then he turned to Pelham. The hoy led him 
to the window. 

“I told you, sir,” he reminded in a low voice. 
“He ’s lost his memory, that ’s all. Otherwise 
he ’s perfectly well.” 

“Lost his memory I ’ ’ cried Lee. ‘ ‘ That ’s . quite 
impossible. Why — ” He checked himself, and 
stood watching Rodman. 

Rodman did not take his eyes from the book be- 


INVESTIGATIONS 


215 


fore him. ‘^If you can tell me anything about my- 
self, sir, I think I ought to hear it.’’ 

Mr. Lee did not answer. For a long time he 
studied the boy. Pelham, fairly quivering with 
excitement, at last could wait no longer. “Oh, 
sir, can’t you tell us something?” 

Mr. Lee asked, “How long has he been here 
with you?” 

“Five weeks next Saturday,” answered Eod- 
man for himself. 

“And you were injured?” 

“I hurt my head in a fall, sir, but I am quite 
well now, except for — for this.” 

“Five weeks,” said Mr. Lee thoughtfully. 
Then lie shook his head. “I must be mistaken.” 

“Oh!” cried Pelham, immensely disappointed. 

“Yes,” said Mr. Lee. “I ’ve thought it out 
now. It ’s less than five weeks since I saw the 
boy I was thinking of. But the resemblance is 
very close.” 

“I would give anything — anything — 1” ex- 
claimed Pelham. 

Eodman turned to him. “I am rather re- 
lieved,” he said. “I have a feeling that when I 
hear from my people the news will be disagree- 


216 


THE RUNAWAY 


able.’’ He spoke to Mr. Lee. ‘‘You are quite 
sure, sir?” 

“Quite sure,” answered Mr. Lee, “especially 
now that I see you again in full face. ’ ’ He turned 
away. “Sorry I — disturbed you.” 

“It ’s all right, sir,” answered Eodman quietly. 
“I think, though, it would be rather disagreeable 
to me if this were talked about. You can see that 
it ’s troublesome to have to answer questions. If 
you both — ” 

“I won’t say a word!” promised Pelham, ea- 
gerly. 

“Nor I,” added Mr. Lee. He went toward the 
door. “You ’ll excuse me, I hope.” 

“Of course,” replied Rodman, again coming 
down from his chair. “You mustn’t think of it 
again, Mr. Lee.” 

Pelham was relieved to find himself outside. 
He was very sorry for Rodman, who in spite of his 
self-command must have been very much upset. 
The boy had never before referred to his own con- 
dition. And at Mr. Lee’s next words Pelham was 
sorry for him. 

“Never blundered like that before,” grumbled 
Mr. Lee, half to himself. “I ’ve a pretty good 
memory for faces, usually. Most unusual situa- 


INVESTIGATIONS 


217 


tion, too. Makes me feel small. And I sorry 
for the boy.’^ 

‘^He ’s a good fellow, sir,’^ Pelham assured him. 
‘‘He won’t mind.” 

With a sudden smile, Mr. Lee cast otf his mood. 
He clapped Pelham on the shoulder. “Much ob- 
liged, my hoy, for showing me about. Now shall 
we find Brian, and have our ride?” 

In the automobile they shot hack to the house, 
where Brian was impatiently waiting on the 
piazza. He ran down the steps. “Pelham, I 
must sit by Mr. Lee ! ’ ’ 

Pelham gave him his seat, and clambered in be- 
hind. There he sat while the powerful car moved 
slowly down the driveway and stopped at the gate. 

“Which way?” asked Mr. Lee. 

“When we go anywhere here,” offered Pelham, 
“we generally go to Winton.” 

“Oh, Pelham!” cried Brian, much amused. 
“A car like this will get there in no time!” He 
turned to Mr. Lee. “Take us to Springfield,” 
he begged. 

Mr. Lee turned the car to the right. “I know 
the way, ’ ’ he said. ‘ ‘ I came by Springfield yester- 
day.” He looked down at Brian. “Tired of 
the country, eh?” 


218 


THE EUNAWAY 


‘‘The country ’s all right,” answered Brian, 
“hut the little towns that these people go to for 
amusement make me tired. Now when I want to 
see a town I want to see a town. Springfield for 
me !” 

Mr. Lee laughed as he quickened the speed. 

Pelham was quite satisfied to sit in the back seat. 
Though so big a boy, he had never ridden in an 
automobile more than a few hundred yards. And 
Springfield, he knew, was twenty miles away. He 
was glad at the prospect before him. Even 
Brian ^s scorn of his habits did not rankle. “I am 
a country boy,” he acknowledged to himself. 
“But now I T1 see something new.” A second 
quickening of the speed, as they passed beyond the 
town, made him draw in his breath with anticipa- 
tion. This was what he had heard of. 

The car was a fine one. He had seen Brian ex- 
amine it, speaking respectfully of the maker and 
the cost of the machine. Pelham could very well 
believe that no better car was made. Even to him 
the car breathed power, and money, and unmeas- 
ured skill. Now that it was fairly well going, its 
quiet purr and its smooth motion were delightful 
to the boy. Automobiles were no marvels to him. 
Though he had ridden in them and in fact had 


INVESTIGATIONS 


219 


seen them so seldom, he clearly understood their 
working. Indeed, from his familiarity with ma- 
chines he was better able to manage one than was 
his cousin, for all that Brian talked of them so 
glibly. Nevertheless, this sensation of speed was 
marvelous to Pelham. The breeze tugged at him, 
the trees flew by, the very road seemed of its own 
will to rush under the car. A corner raced to- 
ward them, and Pelham held his breath: would 
they not shoot otf the road! But without slacken- 
ing the car took the turn, and sped smoothly and 
easily along the next stretch. 

Pelham, as his parents knew, was something of 
an idealist. Bob’s strong practical sense they de- 
lighted in, but in Pelham’s quick imagination they 
perceived a higher quality. ‘‘They ’ll make a 
good pair when I ’ve handed the business over to 
them,” said Mr. Dodd. “Boh will keep things 
from going wrong, Pelham from standing still.” 
Now, with this new sensation stimulating him, 
Pelham sat in silence, wondering at such an ac- 
complishment of man, and casting his thoughts 
forward to still greater achievements in which he, 
perhaps, might have a share. His ears were deaf 
to Brian’s complacent chatter. 

The twenty miles to Springfield were thus en- 


220 


THE RUNAWAY 


joyment and a dream to Pelham. He did not 
come to himself until they were trundling slowly 
through the city’s streets. Then his ordinary 
keenness returned to him, and he looked about 
with interest on the strange sights and sounds. 
Mr. Lee took them to the city square, and showed 
them the still incomplete municipal group of build- 
ings. 

‘‘We Ve got better than that in New York,” 
said Brian, critically. 

“My dear boy,” answered Mr. Lee, quietly, 
“you may have something different, but nothing 
finer of its kind.” 

“Oh, well,” said Brian, shrugging. “Who 
cares for such things, anyway. Come, let ’s find a 
hotel. I ’ll invite you all to dinner.” 

Mr. Lee, looking at him quizzically, smiled be- 
fore he turned away. 

Pelham had come entirely out of his abstraction 
now. With a little satisfaction he saw the smile, 
and felt that he liked Mr. Lee the better for it. 
But Brian, he thought to himself, was having the 
time of his life. His voice had flowed in a steady 
stream during the ride; Pelham had a vague re- 
membrance of hearing of limousines, tours, acci- 
dents, polo, Newport, Europe. Brian had run 


INVESTIGATIONS 


221 


through the list of his interests, while Mr. Lee had 
listened almost in silence. Now the man let Brian 
choose the hotel, and when they had left the auto- 
mobile its owner still followed obediently in 
Brian ^s wake. 

^^The men’s cafe,” decided Brian. ‘‘We’ll 
like it better there.” At the door he beckoned to 
the head waiter, chose his table, and asked for the 
menu, all with perfect self-possession. 

“He ’s enjoying himself,” thought Pelham, 
watching. ‘ ‘ He ’s lived the hotel life, and he pre- 
fers it.” For himself, the big rooms, the striking 
furnishings, and the ebb and flow of people, all 
would grow tiresome with familiarity. 

Pelham looked at Mr. Lee to see if he were still 
studying Brian. No, he seemed abstracted, and 
if he followed Brian’s lead, accepted his sugges- 
tions as to dinner, and still sat silent before the 
food came, it was more because he was thinking of 
his own atfairs than amused at the antics of a boy. 

But after a while he roused himself from his 
mechanical answers and abstracted replies, and 
fixed his attention on Brian. He gestured at the 
busy dining-room. “Brian, I see you like this 
sort of thing.” 

“I ’m used to it,” answered Brian, promptly. 


222 


THE RUNAWAY 


‘‘At Rome I go to tRe restaurants and cafes a good 
deal, after tRe tReater. WTien we ’re traveling, of 
course we use tRem all tRe time.” 

‘ ‘ WRile as for our good PelRam Rere, ’ ’ said Mr. 
Lee, “or tRat young fellow Rodman — Ry tRe way, 
I wisR you ’d tell me aRout tRat Roy. I ’m inter- 
ested in Ris case. It seems very sad.” 

TRe question was addressed to eitRer of tRe 
Roys, Rut Brian took it on Rimself to answer. 
“It ’s sad or not according as you look at it. Now 
I consider tRere ’s more to it tRan appears.” 

“WTiat do you mean?” asked Mr. Lee, directly. 

Brian waved Ris Rand. “Let me tell you from 
tRe Reginning. PelRam and I were driving Rome 
on tRe Winton road, wRen I missed a wallet of 
mine. We went Rack to look for it, and found tRis 
fellow in tRe road, looking at sometRing tRat Re 
Reid in Ris Rand. Supposing it to be my wallet, I 
asked for it. Rut Re dodged away from us into tRe 
woods, and did n’t sRow up again until tRat after- 
noon, wRen Re fell down a clitf in tRe pastures. 
Luckily for Rim, Harriet saw tRe fall, and called 
a fellow named Nate, wRo lives nearby. TRe boy 
was badly knocked up. Rad a fever, and was in 
bed for a fortnight. WRen Re came to, it seems 


INVESTIGATIONS 


223 


lie ’d lost his memory — so they said. Now he ’s 
working in the mill. ’ ’ 

Pelham, listening, sneered a little at the abrupt 
ending. Of course Brian would say nothing of 
Harriet’s return from Winton. Mr. Lee thought 
for a moment. 

^‘What did the boy hold in his hand! Hid you 
see?” 

Brian answered slowly. His attention was sud- 
denly absorbed in his food. ’m not entirely 
sure. ’ ’ 

^ ‘ You said it was a wallet, ’ ’ put in Pelham. ‘ ^ I 
surely thought it was. ’ ’ 

You saw it, then?” asked Mr. Lee. 

‘‘Yes,” answered Pelham. “I know it was a 
wallet.” 

“Yours, then?” asked Mr. Lee of Brian. 

Brian hesitated, and Pelham spoke up quickly. 
“We hope it was n ’t, sir. W e — ’ ’ here he thought 
of Brian’s feeling toward Eodman, and cor- 
rected himself, — “I think him entirely honest. 
If he could remember, I believe he ’d explain it 
properly. But you see, he ’s forgotten; and 
what ’s more, when he was picked up, no wallet 
was found in his clothes.” 


224 


THE RUNAWAY 


‘‘The place was searched?’’ asked Mr. Lee, 
keenly. 

“Where he fell?” inquired Pelham, somewhat 
blankly. “ No, I don ’t think it was. ’ ’ 

“But,” said Mr. Lee, turning to Brian, “you 
didn’t seem to think that the boy had lost his 
memory. ’ ’ 

Brian was a little confused ; nevertheless he an- 
swered, “Asa matter of fact, I never have.” 

“I don’t think you ’re quite fair about it,” said 
Pelham, stoutly. “Isn’t it only that you don’t 
like him?” 

“Well, I don’t like him, and that ’s a fact,” ad- 
mitted Brian. “I don’t want to be mean — ^maybe 
I ’m unfair to him. Still, there ’s something 
about him — ” He finished with the wave of his 
hand which with him stood in place of argument. 

“But there ’s nothing that you ’ve really got to 
show, ’ ’ remarked Mr. Lee shrewdly, ‘ ‘ that goes to 
prove that the boy is pretending?” 

“Nothing definite,” replied Brian, quite satis- 
fied. 

Mr. Lee turned to Pelham. “But you believe 
in him?” 

“Why, Mr. Lee,” argued Pelham, “what reason 
can a fellow have for such a pretense? It would 


INVESTIGATIONS 


225 


be more bother than it ’s worth. Besides, he ’s 
not the tricky kind. He ’s straight, if ever a fel- 
low was!’’ 

Mr. Lee, as Pelham afterward remembered, 
turned away, and sat silent so long that Pelham 
thought he had dropped the subject. At length he 
asked, ^^And the doctor, of course, agrees to all 
this 1 ’ ’ 

don’t know that the boy has ever been really 
examined,” admitted Pelham. ‘‘We ’ve all of us 
taken for granted, perhaps, that if he said he 
couldn’t remember, why, he couldn’t remember. 
But the doctor certainly agreed with the rest. ’ ’ 

“Well, well,” remarked Mr. Lee, as if satisfied, 
“it ’s a mighty interesting case. We read of 
these things, but we seldom run across them. 
And now we ’d better be thinking of starting for 
home, if I ’m to take the others out for a ride be- 
fore supper.” He beckoned to the waiter. 
“Brian, of course I ’m paying for this.” 

“Of course not!” cried Brian, flushing. 
“Eeally, Mr. Lee, I meant my invitation.” 

His pride seemed quite touched, and Mr. Lee 
withdrew. “As you please,” he said. 

The waiter came with the bill, and Brian, look- 
ing at it, felt in his pocket. “Not so much,” he 


226 


THE RUNAWAY 


remarked. Pelham did his best to keep from star- 
ing. Where was Brian to get the money to 
pay for snch a dinner! He felt as if his eyes 
must be popping when Brian drew from his 
pocket a roll of bills every bit as large as the one 
he had lost. With the air of being used to hand- 
ling money, Brian peeled off some bills, and 
handed them to the waiter. ‘‘Keep the change,’’ 
he said, and rose. 

Pelham did not care that Brian, on returning to 
the automobile, again took the seat by Mr. Lee’s 
side. On the way home he said very little. He 
felt somewhat contemptuous of his cousin, and 
somewhat hurt. The contempt was at Brian’s 
appeal to his mother for more money, the hurt — 
no, after all he did not object to Brian’s secrecy. 
If he had been so small as to send for more 
money, of course he would not tell of it. 


CHAPTER XV 


MR. LEE INTERESTS HIMSELF 

M r. lee, as he talked over Ms shoulder with 
Mrs. Dodd, was taking pleasure in occa- 
sional glances at Harriet’s face. She sat by his 
side, flushed with the pleasure of the ride, her eyes 
fixed on the road, and entirely unconscious of his 
observation. To him the girl was beautiful. 
Harriet was not pretty in the common sense, hut 
her features were fine, and she promised, to the 
eye of understanding, a noble womanhood. Mr. 
Lee scarcely understood all her possibilities, yet 
as he looked at her he had glimpses of something 
very rare. The color in her cheeks, the light in 
her eye, the awe, rather than the mere delight in 
this new experience, that spoke in all her features, 
struck him deeply. For a long time he enjoyed 
thus watching her. Yet Mr. Lee had a purpose 
in his mind, and it could not he set aside for the 
mere pleasure of watching a girl. When at last 
they were again approaching the town, he roused 
her. 


227 


228 


THE RUNAWAY 


‘^They tell me it was you, Harriet, that found 
this boy Rodman after he fell.’’ 

She drew a long breath as she came back to her- 
self. ‘^Oh, this has been wonderful! — Yes, we 
girls found him, or rather, we were right there.” 

‘^You saw it I” inquired Lee. 

^‘No,” explained Harriet. ‘‘He fell on the 
cliff, but the trees were between us.” 

“Alarming, I should say,” remarked Mr. Lee. 

“It was very startling,” agreed Harriet. “If 
Nate had n’t lived near at hand I don’t know what 
we should have done. ’ ’ 

“Where does he live, anyway?” asked Mr. Lee. 

“I can show you from here,” said Harriet, ea- 
gerly, “if you ’ll just slow down. — There, do 'you 
see that open pasture on the hillside facing us, on 
the other side of the town? Beyond it the brown 
face of the cliffs shows in places above the trees. 
Then there to the left, a little below, you see the 
roof of a house, and just a bit of its white face? 
Well, that is Nate’s.” 

Mr. Lee had stopped the car entirely. “Hm! 
And where on the cliffs did the boy fall?” 

“About a mile to the right of Nate’s.” 

“The boy just slipped and fell, and struck on 
the bare ground?” 


MR. LEE INTERESTS HIMSELF 


229 


^ ^ Oh, no, ’ ’ corrected Harriet. ^ ^ A big rock gave 
way under him, and he fell with it. Luckily he 
wasn’t under it. Other rocks fell too, and he 
must have fallen upon a little tree, for it was quite 
broken down.” 

Mr. Lee seemed satisfied. ^‘And this man 
Nate? I suppose he ’s the sort of a man you are 
willing to trust the hoy with?” He started the 
car. 

‘^Oh, yes!” Harriet began explaining about 
Nate, his skill and his way of life, and had scarcely 
finished singing his praises when they reached 
the house. 

Mr. Lee was jovial that night. He offered to 
show Bob how to run the machine. Brian, start- 
ing up with, ^ ‘ Oh, show me I ” had his hair rubbed 
into his eyes. ‘‘All in good time, young man,” 
said Mr. Lee, but so good-naturedly that Brian 
could not feel hurt. The visitor invited Harriet 
to the piano, and volunteered to sing while she 
played — and sang so well in his baritone voice 
that they begged him to continue. But then he 
challenged Mrs. Dodd to a game of cribbage, 
changed the invitation to include the family, and 
finally involved them all, even Mr. Dodd, in an up- 
roarious game of seven-handed euchre. When 


230 


THE EUNAWAY 


the younger ones had gone to bed, he stayed for a 
talk with Bob and the parents. 

But in the morning he was the first to stir. 
The clock had scarcely ceased striking four when 
he was out of bed, and in less than fifteen minutes 
he had let himself quietly out of the house. He 
sat in a piazza chair to put on his shoes, then 
strode off down the driveway, turning his back on 
the stable where his automobile was. He took the 
road for Winton, hesitated at the first cross- 
roads, then waited for a farmer whose cart ap- 
peared in sight, jogging along the road. He 
halted the farmer when he came up. 

‘‘There ’s a man named Nate who lives some- 
where about here,^^ he asked. “Can you tell me 
the way to his place.’’ 

The farmer was too sleepy to show surprise at 
the question, asked by such a man at such an hour. 
He pointed to the side road. “Up the hill as far 
as she goes,” he said, and jogged on. 

Mr. Lee swung briskly up the hill until he 
caught sight of the roof of Nate’s house. It lay 
to the left of the road, and Mr. Lee studied the 
land to the right. In this dry weather there was 
scarcely any dew, and choosing a spot where the 
bushes were thinnest he leaped the fence without 


MR. LEE INTERESTS HIMSELF 231 

fear for his clothes. Across the fence there were 
woods, but they were thin, and promised to he 
thinner higher up. Through them he pressed his 
way until he came to a stone wall, across which 
lay the broad pasture known to all blueberry pick- 
ers. Mr. Lee climbed the wall, and briskly con- 
tinued his ascent. 

The sun was well above the horizon now, and 
was warm on his back. But time was passing. 
He took off his coat and never stopped in his 
climb. Before long he saw in front the fringe of 
trees that masked the cliffs; then eagerly he 
climbed still faster. He reached the cliffs at their 
beginning. 

Pushing into the hushes, he began to follow the 
base of the cliffs, studying not only the ground 
before him, but also the face of the rocks. The 
cliffs were not high, twenty feet at the most ; but 
the thickets at their feet were often close, and he 
had to go slowly. Occasionally he looked at his 
watch, frowning at the passage of time. Once or 
twice he paused and studied a space with care, 
but each time, with shaking head, he continued 
his search. At length, however, he stopped ab- 
ruptly. 

^^Here it is!’’ 


232 


THE RUNAWAY 


At tlie foot of tlie cliff lay two great stones, with 
other smaller ones near by. Close at hand was a 
sapling of which the top had been entirely broken 
down. Although ferns had sprung up beside the 
stones, partially masking them, and although the 
broken sapling had sent forth new shoots, there 
was no mistaking the fact that the fall and the in- 
jury were recent. Had there been any doubt, a 
glance at the clitf would have furnished other 
proof. On its weatherworn surface appeared 
fresh scars, showing whence the fallen rocks had 
slipped. 

Throwing down his jacket, Mr. Lee began to 
look about him. First he walked carefully about 
the place, looking minutely on the ground. Then 
he began systematically to hunt. Every clump of 
grass was searched; tufts of fern were uprooted 
and cast aside ; he thrust his way into bushes and 
explored their depths. Shaking his head, he wi- 
dened the area of his search until at last he came 
out into the open pasture. There for a while he 
tramped about, looking on the ground, and always 
unsuccessfully returning to the cliff. Then for a 
while he stood thinking, until with hope he cast 
his eye on the two great fallen rocks. The 
smaller ones he had already turned over. The 


MR. LEE INTERESTS HIMSELF 233 

big ones were as large as it was likely that a man 
would be able to move, but with surprising energy 
he assaulted them. He turned over first one and 
then the other, but he found nothing where they 
had lain. Now, shaking his head, he climbed up 
the cliff as far as he could go, but with the evident 
expectation of finding nothing. Empty-handed 
he came down again, gave a last searching look 
about him, and once more looked at his watch. 
Starting, he snatched up his jacket and hurried 
down the hill. 

On the way back he missed his direction, and 
before he knew it was fairly in the thickets that 
bordered the space around Nate^s house. There 
he stood for a while, studying the place, and no- 
ting the smoke that was curling from the chimney. 
Withdrawing, he circled about, struck the road 
again far down the hillside, and pressed onward 
to the highway. At a rapid pace he swung into 
the town, and passed up the Dodds’ driveway at 
exactly seven o’clock. A maid, just putting up 
the living-room shades, saw him and let him in. 
As he went up the stairs he met no one, but 
splashes from the bathroom seemed to indicate 
that some of the family were just out of bed. He 
reached his room unseen, and studying his cos- 


234 THE RUNAWAY 

tume decided that he needed fresh shoes and a 
good wash before he conld show himself. 

After breakfast Mr. Dodd asked him his plans 
for the day. ‘‘Boh and I shall be busy in the of- 
fice until eleven/’ exclaimed Mr. Dodd. “After 
that we shall be at your disposal.” 

“Then shortly after eleven I will call at the 
mill,” said Mr. Lee, smiling. “In the meantime, 
Mr. Dodd, I wonder if there is anything improper 
in my inspecting your annex here on the hill.” 
Mr. Dodd looked puzzled, and Mr. Lee explained. 
“I mean the little dye-house of the man named 
Nate.” 

“Certainly not,” said Mr. Dodd, heartily, “if 
only you don’t put it that way to him. Nate is 
no employee of mine, you understand. All his 
work is independent. He buys his materials of 
me, or of others through me, he dyes them accord- 
ing to his fancy, and I sell his goods apart from 
my own. He and I bargain as man to man, and 
he has nothing to do with the mills. So if you will 
keep in mind that he is a true Yankee, very proud 
of his independence, you and he will get on.” 

In the midst of the clacking and thumping of 
his jigger, therefore, Nate was interrupted by the 
sudden sight of a shadow on his floor. He looked 


MR. LEE INTERESTS HIMSELF 


235 


up and saw Mr. Lee in the doorway. ^^Come in/’ 
he said, stopping the machine. 

Mr. Lee came into the workroom. ‘‘My name 
is Lee,” he said. “Mr. Dodd told me that per- 
haps you would let me see how you work. ’ ’ 

“Surely,” answered Nate, offering his hand. 
“Why, Rodman ’s told me all about you. Goin’ 
inter the business yourself, I understand. Cer- 
tainly I ’ll show you how I work, only — ” and 
Nate smiled slyly at his guest, “only there ’s 
more to dyein’ than jes’ passin’ a cloth through a 
mixture. ’ ’ 

“I know,” answered Lee, smiling himself. “I 
know that the mixture itself is the thing, and that 
you ’d rather not tell much about that. ’ ’ 

“Sho, Mr. Lee, what’s the use o’ talkin’!” 
cried Nate. “I ain’t got no secrets that I ain’t 
willin’ to tell when a man comes to me as you do, 
meanin’ really to go into the business. I like to 
make a kind o’ mystery o’ my receipts with the 
boys an’ the workmen; they think the better o’ 
me for it. But between you an’ me now, I ’ll tell 
you as I once told Mr. Dodd. It isn’t so much 
the receipts themselves, as the know-how o’ put- 
tin’ ’em together. An’ more ’n that, there ain’t 
never been no measured quantities to ’em. You 


236 


THE RUNAWAY 


know about the old-style cook. Sbe says, ‘Yes, 
o’ course I ’ll tell you how to make a batter pud- 
din’. Get a little butter, an’ a pinch o’ salt an’ 
cinnamon, an’ jes’ enough flour — !’ Now, Mr. 
Lee, I can’t tell you no nearer than that jes’ how 
much o’ one thing an’ another I put into my mix- 
tures.” 

Mr. Lee was laughing. “I understand, Mr — ” 

“Jes’ plain Nate. No one calls me nothin’ 
else. Moreover, Mr. Lee, you can’t get no mill 
workman to study over his mixtures as I do, — no, 
nor you won ’t find no employer to pay him for his 
time when he’s doin’ it. You wouldn’t do it 
yourself. Rememberin’ all that, let me tell you 
whatever I can. ’ ’ 

For more than an hour the two stood over 
Nate’s crude jigger, while the dyer talked of his 
art. Both men were deeply absorbed. Question 
after question was asked by Mr. Lee when once 
Nate had finished his explanation, and detail 
after detail Nate explained with great fulness.. 

“Nate,” said the visitor at the end, “any man 
who is going into this business as a manufacturer, 
no matter how big or how small a plant he intends 
to have, ought to come first and talk with you.” 

Nate smiled with gratification. “It does me 


MR. LEE INTERESTS HIMSELF 237 

good to Lear you say so/’ lie said. ‘‘I ’ll be glad 
to feel, sir, that suthin’ I may have said will make 
a little difference to your year’s profits.” 

‘^It will,” replied Mr. Lee. ‘‘Or if it doesn’t 
it will be my fault.” He turned to the door. “I 
am due at the mill in less than half an hour, and 
so I ought to be going.” 

They had shaken hands at the door, and Mr. 
Lee was starting to go, when abruptly he turned 
back. “By the way, I am interested in the story 
of that boy Rodman. You ’ve been very good to 
him. ’ ’ 

“No more than he deserves,” answered Nate. 

“Too bad, isn’t it,” asked the visitor; “that 
story about the lost wallet?” 

Nate flushed. “So it’s got to your ears so 
soon! Mr. Lee, nothin’ makes me so mad as 
that story. Why, there ain’t nothin’ in it so 
far ’s Rodman ’s concerned.” 

“You looked through his clothes?” inquired 
Mr. Lee. 

“I did,” answered Nate. “There wasn’t 
nothin’ in ’em except a knife an’ a pocket-hand- 
kerchief. The other boy jes’ lost his wallet, an’ 
there ’s nothin’ more to it.” 

Mr. Lee shook hands with him again. “I ’ll 


238 


THE RUNAWAY 


remember to deny the story whenever I meet 
it.’’ 

‘‘An’ wherever you meet it too,” suggested 
Nate. “Good-by, Mr. Lee, an’ much obliged to 
ye.” 

Mr. Lee was busy with the two Dodds for the 
rest of the day. They agreed, when they talked 
him over later, that he was the keenest visitor 
that they had yet had. He seemed to understand 
much instinctively, and their explanations needed 
always to be of the briefest. It was not till the 
end of the day that he referred to his visit to 
Nate. Mr. Dodd was much interested in his ac- 
count of it. 

“Nate is quite right, Mr. Lee,” he said. 
“Neither you nor I could get a mill-full of work- 
ers to follow his methods. Nor would the results 
pay us if we could. No, it takes a solitary genius, 
working for the love of it, as Nate does, to get 
such results as his. There ’s such a demand for 
his product that I sell it at almost any price I 
please — Nate never bothers himself about that. 
But I never met another man of the kind. ’ ’ 

“Odd stick,” remarked Mr. Lee. “He ’s been 
very good to that boy Rodman. — By the way, I 


MR. LEE INTERESTS HIMSELF 


239 


suppose one can believe wbat Nate says, about tbe 
lad’s having no wallet?” 

‘^You ’re a stranger, Mr. Lee,” returned Mr. 
Dodd, seriously, ‘‘or you wouldn’t ask such a 
question. Nate ’s shrewd, and does n’t tell all he 
knows ; but when he says a thing, no one in this 
town would disbelieve it.” 

“I thought so,” said Mr. Lee. “But Mr. 
Dodd, I ’d like to make a proposal to you. The 
case of this boy has interested me. What should 
you say to my taking him with me to the city 
when I go, to put him under good doctors. ’ ’ 

Mr. Dodd looked at him quietly. “How would 
he be better off?” he asked. 

“He would find his people.” 

“What are his people doing to find him?” 
asked Mr. Dodd. “The police of New York and 
Boston, and the constables of every town here- 
about as far as Springfield, know all about the 
boy. If there had been the slightest attempt 
made to trace him, I should have been informed. 
No, Mr. Lee, when his people begin to worry 
about him, I will worry about his people. In the 
meanwhile I have taken medical advice, not 
merely of our local doctor, who is pretty clever. 


240 


THE RUNAWAY 


but also from experts, men that I know person- 
ally. They agree that tbe quickest way for him 
to come to himself is to keep in good health and 
free from worry. Except that in the last twenty- 
four hours he has appeared rather pale, I don’t 
see that he could be better otf.” 

‘‘Doubtless you are right,” said Mr. Lee. 

“You are very good to think so,” finished Mr. 
Dodd, “but really I don’t see that more can be 
done for him just now.” 

Mr. Lee nodded, and said no more. For two 
days he did not mention Rodman, nor did he go 
near the office in which the boy worked. He went 
in and out of the mill buildings, however, and dis- 
cussed with the Dodds every detail of their busi- 
ness, even to their system of paying their men. 

‘ ‘ I should think you are inconveniently situated 
for getting money,” he remarked to Bob on Fri- 
day evening. “You don’t trust such a package 
of bills to the mail carrier? For example, who 
brings it to-morrow?” 

“Mail hours are inconvenient,” explained Bob. 
“I carry it myself. Jog over, and jog back.” 

‘ ‘ I can save you time if you ’ll let me take you, ’ ’ 
suggested Mr. Lee. “You may drive the machine, 
too, if you like.” 



And then Rodman knew his mistake 








I 


MR. LEE INTERESTS HIMSELF 


243 


‘^Good man!^’ cried Bob. 

Not till toward Saturday noon did Mr. Lee go 
near the office. Rodman had just finished a 
stint of work with the bookkeeper. Mr. Hollins, 
slowly growing stronger after his operation, had 
expressed his satisfaction at the help the boy 
gave him. Now he had limped away, promising 
to come back early in the afternoon for the mak- 
ing up of the pay-roll. T1 soon be working 
full time again now, ’ said, at the door. 

‘^But there T1 be no room for me after that,’’ 
answered Rodman, with a wry face. 

Mr. Hollins laughed. There ’ll be work for 
you in the office for a long time to come,” he de- 
clared. ‘‘Besides, your arm is growing strong 
again. It won’t be long before you will want 
more active work.” And so he had gone. 

Left to himself, Rodman had worked for a 
while. Mr. Dodd and Bob had come in and out, 
busy with their own work, but for the most part 
the office was deserted by all but him. 

Now notice how a boy, used perhaps to deciding 
for himself, and carrying quite a burden of re- 
sponsibility, but nevertheless only a boy, can on 
a sudden impulse make a false step. 

Mr. Lee came into the office. He walked 


244 


THE RUNAWAY 


quickly, as was his habit; he seemed satisfied at 
finding Eodman ; and then, having shut the door, 
he looked about the room to see if any one else 
was there. 

Where is Mr. Dodd?^^ he asked. 

‘ ^ Somewhere in the mill, ’ ’ answered Eodman. 

‘‘And young Mr. DoddT’ 

“I think he went to the house. 

Mr. Lee stood still as if thinking, his eyes fixed 
on the boy so long that at last he grew restless. 

Eodman ’s desk was not far from the big safe, 
which stood open. Slipping from his seat, Eod- 
man went to the safe, swung to the heavy door, 
shot the bolts, and with a spin of the knob broke 
the combination. And then, at the sudden light 
that flashed from the visitor’s eyes, he knew his 
mistake. 


CHAPTER XVI 


BAKING AGAINST DARING 

A H,^’ said Mr. Lee, softly. 

Pale and rigid, Rodman stood watching 

him. 

^‘Why,’’ asked the man, “should you suppose 
I would want to go to the safe, if,’’ he spoke 
slower and slower, “if — you — didn’t — ^know?” 
Rodman shuddered. 

‘ ‘ Go and sit down, ’ ’ said the man, not unkindly. 
Rodman clambered into his seat. Mr. Lee be- 
gan to pace the floor. Every little while he 
glanced at the hoy, and each time Rodman, fear- 
fully watching, saw in his eyes the flicker of a fire 
that came and went. One who had seen the man 
as he drove his automobile at the waters of the 
dam, would have noted in his face the same look 
now, the glance of one who enjoyed danger and 
welcomed it. 

Suddenly, with a little laugh hut with no word 
to the boy, he turned and left the office. And 

245 


246 


THE EUNAWAY 


Eodman, to whom the other had uttered no threat, 
put his head down on his arms and sobbed. 

‘ ‘ Spoiled ! ’ ’ he cried, almost choking in despair. 
‘^Spoiled!’’ 

There, half an hour later, Pelham found him. 
Eodman had recovered his calmness, hut his face 
was pale and his eyes were red. ‘‘Anything 
wrong r’ demanded Pelham at once. 

“Probably everything,’’ answered the other. 
“Where is Mr. Lee?” 

“He ’s gone with Bob to Winton in the motor,” 
answered Pelham. 

Eodman sprang from his stool. “To fetch the 
money for the pay-roll?” 

“Yes,” answered Pelham. “Eodman, what is 
the matter with you?” For Eodman, as if struck 
by a blow, had reeled to the chair by Mr. Dodd’s 
desk and dropped into it. Pelham went to him 
anxiously. 

“Give me a minute,” gasped Eodman, strug- 
gling with himself. “Now I ’m — all right.” He 
raised his head, but he was so pale that Pelham 
cried, 

“Eodman, you must have the doctor.” 

“No,” answered Eodman, impatiently. “Pel- 
ham, I must think. ’ ’ 


DARING AGAINST DARING 


247 


And now lie paced the floor where so recently 
Mr. Lee had been striding. Pelham, watching 
him, divined that this friend of his had more on 
his mind than ever had come to his own share in 
life. He watched Rodman’s face gradually be- 
gin to glow with an idea ; the color came back, and 
the eye sparkled as if even the boy, in his turn, 
was measuring a danger. At length Rodman 
turned to him. His manner was entirely 
changed; he was alert and quick. 

‘‘When did they start for Winton?” Rodman 
asked. 

“Half an hour ago.” 

‘ ‘ Did your brother have any other errands I ’ ’ 

“One or two. And Mr. Lee was going to get 
some gasoline.” 

“Pelham,” asked Rodman, earnestly, “will 
you go with me, and do as I do, and ask no ques- 
tions about it at all ? ” 

“Is anything wrong!” returned Pelham, quite 
as earnestly. 

“Something may be very wrong indeed,” an- 
swered Rodman. “But I can’t tell you anything 
about it. I can’t even tell you what I’m going 
to do. You ’ll have to come and imitate, and say 
nothing. ’ ’ 


248 


THE RUNAWAY 


‘^Well, I T1 come then,’^ agreed Pelham, slowly. 
^‘Where is it to beT^ 

‘^Tbe Winton road,^’ answered Rodman. ‘‘We 
shall want yonr bicycle.’’ 

“Why not a carriage?” asked Pelham. 

“It won’t do,” Rodman answered. He took np 
his cap. ‘ ‘ I shall start at once. Will yon go and 
get the bicycle, and catch np with me ? ’ ’ 

They parted at the door. In ten minntes Pel- 
ham, spinning along on his bicycle, saw Rodman 
ahead of him, already nearing the woods. By 
the time he had canght him they were nnder the 
trees. Then when Pelham was by his side, and 
before he conld dismonnt, Rodman, placing a 
hand on the saddle post, began rnnning. Thongh 
snrprised, Pelham said nothing. 

For a mile they went, Pelham occasionally 
glancing at the other. Gradnally Rodman began 
to show signs of fatigue. At last Pelham dis- 
mounted. “We ’re slowing up,” he said, briefly. 
“My turn to run.” Rodman made no objection, 
but with a grateful glance mounted the bicycle, 
and Pelham ran by his side. At the end of an- 
other mile they changed once more. All the time 
scarcely a word was said. Pelham noted, how- 
ever, that while at each turn Rodman cast a 


DARING AGAINST DARING 


249 


glance ahead, those glances became more and 
more anxious. 

In the meantime Boh and Mr. Lee had driven 
over to Winton. Through the woods Bob man- 
aged the car, driving slowly under Mr. Lee^s di- 
rection. Boh was a quick learner. He was fa- 
miliar with machines, understood the theoretical 
working of this one, and by his sureness of hand 
and eye speedily mastered the simpler manage- 
ment of the car. But when he approached Win- 
ton he gave the control into Mr. Lee ’s hands, say- 
ing, donT want to wreck your car, or to kill 
any one.’^ Separating when they reached the 
business blocks, they did their errands, and then 
met again for the return trip. 

‘‘Got everything?’^ asked Mr. Lee, as they 
started, and when Bob had nodded, inquired: 
“How much money do you pay weekly, anyway?” 

“We can show you all the figures, if you like,” 
answered Bob. ‘ ‘ The men earn all the way 
from twenty to thirty dollars a week, and we pay 
some of the higher employes in cash — the book- 
keeper, for instance. I never like to give out how 
much we carry over the road, hut of course you ’ll 
say nothing. I ’ve fifty-two hundred dollars with 


250 


THE RUNAWAY 


‘^You handle a good deal yearly/’ remarked 
Mr. Lee, studying the road. 

fellow gets used to it,” laughed Bob. 

When once they had passed the limits of the 
town, Mr. Lee stopped the car. ‘^You ’ll drive 
back?” 

Reluctantly, Bob shook his head. ‘ ^ I ’d like to, 
but on principle I oughtn’t. There probably 
won’t be a hold-up on this road in a thousand 
years, but if it should happen this afternoon 
when I ’m enjoying myself, I should never forget 
the shame of it.” 

^‘Give me your revolver,” suggested Mr. Lee. 
’m something of a shot myself, and I can take 
care of the money.” 

‘‘I ’d rather not,” answered Bob. 

*‘My dear fellow,” said Lee, ‘‘as a matter of 
fact I carry a pistol myself, though it ’s of very 
small caliber. You ’re entirely safe in taking the 
risk, even though you keep your own weapon.” 

But Bob still shook his head. “Much obliged 
to you, Mr. Lee, but really I could n ’t. ” 

Mr. Lee started the car. “I respect your prin- 
ciple,” he laughed. “You ’ll have plenty of 
chances to drive the car.” 

They sped onward, and entered the long woods. 


DARING AGAINST DARING 


251 


‘‘Five miles without a house, I understand,’’ re- 
marked Mr. Lee. “Where is the nearest tele- 
phone, in case of accident?” 

“Perhaps a mile and a half back,” answered 
Bob. “There ’s one at the big farmhouse at the 
cross-roads.” 

They sped on swiftly. Bob, looking at the road 
ahead, like Pelham and Harriet, drew in his 
breath. “This is fun,” he said. “I ’ll have one 
of these some day.” 

Mr. Lee shot a glance at him from under his 
brows, looked ahead, and slipped a hand into his 
vest pocket. He took it away, quickened the 
pace, and looked at the speedometer. Three 
miles now to the nearest telephone. When they 
swept around the corner he glanced keenly along 
the next stretch of road. It was empty. A smile 
of satisfaction came into his face, and his eyes 
began to flicker the light of daring. Suddenly he 
slowed the car down, and once more, with a quick 
motion, his hand went to his vest pocket. He 
turned to Bob with a sudden setting of his jaw. 

Bob was looking along the road. He did not 
notice Mr. Lee’s action, nor think of the hand as 
it stole from the pocket. “There is some one,” 
he remarked. “By Jove, it ’s the boys !” 


252 


THE RUNAWAY 


Mr. Lee looked. There by the side of the road 
were two waving figures. He recognized Rod- 
man and Pelham. Slowly his hand fumbled be- 
neath his coat and came away from his pocket. 
The gleam died out of his eyes, the hard expres- 
sion left his face. He settled himself into a pose 
and expression of inditference, and presently 
stopped the car by the side of the boys. 

‘ ‘ Give us a ride ? ’ ^ asked Rodman, pressing for- 
ward. 

^‘Give us a rideP’ repeated Pelham. 

“What are you two boys doing here?^^ de- 
manded Bob, bluffly. “You ought to be at the of- 
fice. ’ ’ 

Rodman was taken aback, and Pelham noticed 
it. “Not on Saturdays,’^ he said, readily. 
“After Mr. Hollins goes, we stay or not as we 
please.’’ 

“Is everything locked up!” asked Bob. 

“The safe is shut, Mr. Dodd,” answered Rod- 
man. “I ’m afraid I left the day-book outside.” 

“Well,” said Bob good-naturedly, “I ’ll put it 
in when I get back. But see that none of the 
other books are ever left out. It would be tire- 
some to lose any in case of fire.” 

Mr. Lee had been silent; now he hooted with 


DARING AGAINST DARING 


253 


the hom. ‘‘Get he said, briefly. His eye 
caught Rodman ^s. The light of adventure had 
kindled again. ‘ ‘ Get in ! ’ ’ he repeated. 

From opposite sides the two hoys climbed into 
the car and took places in the narrow tonneau. 
“Let ’s see how fast you can make her go,’’ said 
Rodman. 

Mr. Lee started the car slowly. “ I ’m not hur- 
rying to-day, ’ ’ he replied. He looked behind him 
at the stretch of road, then slightly quickened the 
speed. Pelham watched Rodman to see what he 
should do next. Rodman was watching Mr. Lee, 
who after a minute once more looked back along 
the road. They were just approaching a corner. 
Rodman’s face was tense. 

They swept around the corner, and the boy 
craned forward to see the road. As before, as 
usual, it was empty. The car slowed suddenly, 
and once more Mr. Lee’s hand was lifted toward 
his breast. 

Rodman rose in his seat. “Suppose there 
were robbers on the road,” he cried. “We two 
could take care of you.” His lean brown hand 
slipped over Mr. Lee’s shoulder; it reached the 
pocket first. The strained voice continued. 
“Mr. Lee, lend me your pistol?” Rodman drew 


254 


THE RUNAWAY 


Ms hand away, and to Pelham’s amazement it was 
holding a small automatic pistol. 

‘‘Pelham,” said Rodman, “ask your brother 
for his revolver.” 

“Give it to me. Bob,” begged Pelham, quickly. 

“What nonsense!” cried Bob, disgusted. 
“Pelham, shut your head. Rodman, you crazy 
thing, give back that pistol ! ’ ’ 

Rodman laughed shrilly; he reminded Pelham 
of a nervous girl. “Faster, Mr. Lee,” he cried. 
“Robbers !” 

“Better put that back,” said Mr. I«ee without 
looking around. 

Rodman held the pistol toward the bushes. 
“I ’m ready for any one who shows himself. 
Faster! Faster!” 

“Silly!” cried Bob, almost angry. “For 
Heaven’s sake don’t play with firearms. — Care- 
ful, Rodman! You ’ll drop it in the road!” 

“Faster!” repeated the boy, almost beside him- 
self with excitement. 

Mr. Lee gave a short laugh and opened the 
throttle. The car shot forward, and Rodman 
subsided in his seat. Again the car surged into a 
faster speed, and yet again. Round the next cor- 
ner, with a shrill note of warning, it spun on two 


DAEING AGAINST DARING 


255 


wheels, and before it was an empty stretch of 
road that seemed endless. Once more the car 
quickened its speed, and Pelham saw Bob sink 
lower in his seat. The rush of air smote him in 
the face, and he too crouched before it. He 
gasped with amazement. The engine was hum- 
ming like the great turbine at the mill, and Pel- 
ham felt that the power of the two was the same. 
On either side of the road the woods stood like 
solid walls, between which the automobile was 
flying. Suddenly before them showed the next 
corner, and Pelham caught his breath. The whis- 
tle sounded like the long wail of a demon, but the 
car never slackened its pace. 

‘ Ht ^s too great a risk ! ’ ^ thought Pelham. But 
he knew he was helpless. He believed that they 
would dash into the woods at the turn, or maybe 
shatter themselves on some other vehicle, and he 
shut his eyes. He felt the whole car twist, but 
nothing else happened. He looked again. Down 
another straight stretch they were racing at the 
same speed, but Pelham’s anxious bosom was re- 
lieved. Before them rose a hill. The car must 
slow down. 

But no! It dashed at the hill as if the road 
were level. Then suddenly the air was filled with 


256 


THE RUNAWAY 


a throbbing roar. Though they were fairly on 
the hill the speed did not change. Pelham under- 
stood : Mr. Lee had opened the muffler. Pelham 
fairly shivered as he remembered that there was 
a bad double turn ahead. 

Bob raised his hand, and Mr. Lee nodded. The 
car reached the brow of the hill — then suddenly 
the roar was cut off, and the speed grew less. 
Pelham saw Mr. Lee’s finger moving the throttle, 
and every instant the car ran more slowly. It 
took the double curve at an easy speed, then slid 
forward to the long hill that led downward to the 
town. Pelham drew a long breath as he felt the 
brake go on. 

Over his shoulder Mr. Lee smiled at him. 
‘‘Great machine, eh, Pelly!” But Pelham was 
still too much amazed to do more than nod. 

“What was the speed!” asked Bob. 

“Just over sixty-two.” 

“Wliee!” breathed Pelham to himself. 

They slipped down the long hill, and came into 
the town. Then Rodman leaned forward and 
spoke. “Can’t we go straight to the offlce, Mr. 
Bob! I ’d like to have that book put away. Be- 
sides, we can make up the pay-roll there. ’ ’ 

. ‘ ‘ All right, ’ ’ answered Bob. 


DARING AGAINST DARING 


257 


In tlie office Bob opened the safe, put in tbe day- 
book, and then tbrnst in tbe packet of money. 
^‘We ’U make np tbe roll when Mr. Hollins comes 
in tbe afternoon. Now we Ve barely time for 
luncb,’’ And be locked the safe again. He 
went to tbe door, Mr. Lee silently following. 
‘^Coming, PellyT’ 

‘Hn just a minute,’^ answered bis younger 
brother. Pelham was watching Rodman, who in 
bis turn was looking sbrinkingly at Mr. Lee. 
Rodman still held tbe pistol, which now be held 
out to its owner. 

‘^Thanks,’’ said Mr. Lee, indifferently, and 
thrust it into bis pocket. Tbe two men went out, 
and left tbe boys together. 

Rodman fairly dropped into a chair, and in 
alarm Pelham went to him. He saw that Rod- 
man’s forehead was covered with perspira- 
tion, and when be touched bis band be found it 
cold and moist. But Rodman looked up and 
smiled. 

‘Ht ’s — it ’s over, that ’s all,” be explained. 

Tbe amazing speed of the automobile had put 
everything else out of Pelham’s mind. Now, as 
be looked at Rodman, be began to think of tbe 
meaning of tbe boy’s actions. A strange idea 


258 THE KUNAWAY 

came to him, at which he himself began to tnm 
cold. 

‘^Eodman,’^ he stammered astonished, ‘^do yon 
mean — ! ’ ’ 

‘‘Yon mnst say nothing to any one about it,” 
directed Eodman, firmly. “It can’t happen 
again for a week, and by that time — ^he should be 
gone.” 

Pelham began to shiver. “It can’t be true.” 

Eodman rose. “I hope it isn’t. Pelham, 
yon ’ll be late to lunch.” 

With his head in a whirl, Pelham went home. 
One thing he was glad of, that he had not prom- 
ised not to tell. Still, for a while he would say 
nothing. Through the meal he was silent, occa- 
sionally stealing glances at Mr. Lee. Why, the 
man was a gentleman ! 

Eodman was not at the ball game that after- 
noon. When Pelham returned to the house he 
found his forgotten bicycle leaning against the 
piazza steps. Eodman had brought it from its 
hiding-place in the woods. 


CHAPTER XVn 


SHEELOCK HOLMES AGAIN 

P ELHAM’S head was whirling once more; he 
was in the midst of things that he did not un- 
derstand. There was Rodman’s strange perfor- 
mance of the morning, and now here was a new 
fact concerning Brian. When the evening mail 
had been distributed, and all sat reading their let- 
ters, Mrs. Dodd had suddenly spoken. 

Brian, this is from your mother’s letter. She 
says, ‘Tell Brian I have been watching for a let- 
ter from him. He hasn’t written me since he 
went to you, not even to ask for money.’ My 
boy, hadn’t you better bear this in mind?” 

Brian, a little sheepish, had mumbled a “Yes.” 
Pelham went out on the piazza. If Brian had n ’t 
written his mother for money, where had he got 
the “wad” from which he paid so freely at 
Springfield? He sat upon the railing and pon- 
dered the question. 

Presently Bob came out, and Pelham tried him 
with another of his problems. “I say. Bob, don’t 

259 


260 


THE RUNAWAY 


you think it queer that Mr. Lee carries a pistol T’ 
‘‘Hush, you young idiot,’’ answered his kindly 
older brother. “Don’t go singing out your ques- 
tions where the whole street can hear, and Mr. 
Lee too. — No, I don’t think it queer. He told 
me he had it. ’ ’ 

“But why — f” began Pelham. 

“Oh, lots of people carry firearms. I don’t 
approve of it at all, you understand. I call it a 
dangerous practice, and never have a pistol with 
me except on Saturdays, when I ’m carrying the 
men’s pay. But many do it, just the same.” 

And he strolled away. Pelham sat puzzling on 
the railing until Harriet appeared. Remember- 
ing Bob ’s lesson of caution, he called her to his 
side. “Harriet, I ’m all in a muddle.” 

She put her hand on his shoulder while she 
looked at the sunset sky. “Fire away,” she 
said, ‘ ‘ and let me help. ’ ’ 

He looked at her keenly. “That afternoon 
when Rodman drove home with you from Winton, 
and hurt his wrist again — ” 

In a fiash her startled eyes were on him. ‘ ‘ Pel- 
ham, how did you know?” 

“I ’m something of a Sherlock Holmes my- 
self,” he answered. “Let me tell you how I work 


SHERLOCK HOLMES AGAIN 


261 


it out from bits of evidence/’ And while she 
listened he told her how he had reasoned ont what 
had happened. ’m not entirely clear about 
it,” he confessed. ^‘Johnson had some part in 
it, I can see. But how was it that you arrived 
with Brian?” 

She told him. have been indignant about it 
ever since. I never thought a cousin of mine 
could act that way. Pelham, if you ever — ! ’ ’ 

^‘Now don’t go insulting a fellow,” he warned 
her. ‘‘But I want to talk with you about Brian. 
It ’s too much for me alone. — Harriet, let ’s go 
back to the day when Rodman came.” 

“Begin then,” she said. And he began. It 
was characteristic that neither asked nor offered 
promises of secrecy. They were a peculiar fam- 
ily, the Dodds. They trusted each other like an 
ancient clan; the family’s secrets were for the 
family alone, and whatever was said in private 
was said in confidence. And in such a case as 
this neither brother nor sister would ask or prom- 
ise absolute secrecy, because their loyalty to the 
head of the house forbade it. Father or Mother 
might ask to be informed, and always must be 
told. And so, without exacting any promises, 
Pelham began. 


262 


THE RUNAWAY 


‘^You remember when we came back and said 
that Brian wallet had been stolen — no, yon 
weren’t there. But when you came home from 
your own adventure with Rodman, we told you of 
the money. Now, Harriet, there were more than 
five dollars in the wallet that was lost. Brian had 
just shown it to me — a hundred and seventy- 
five!” 

Harriet gasped. ‘‘Pelham!” 

“I thought him mighty generous to say noth- 
ing about it. Of course he was afraid to tell 
father, because it was against his agreement to 
bring money here. Still, it ’s a tremendous 
aipount of money for a fellow to lose. Knowing 
Brian, I expected him to grumble about it, espe- 
cially to me, because I knew he had the money. 
Harriet, he has never once spoken about it ! And 
more, you know he dislikes Rodman. He thinks 
he ’s pretending about his memory, and all that. 
But he never accuses him of having the money 
that was lost.” 

Harriet nodded. “Perhaps you Ve noticed 
that Brian ’s very sensitive about any mention of 
it. It puts him out and bothers him. Out in the 
garden once he was very rude to me about it. ’ ’ 

“Yes,” said Pelham. “But now listen. The 


SHERLOCK HOLMES AGAIN 


263 


other day, over in Springfield, he pulled out a roll 
of bills as big as the one he showed when we were 
driving, and paid our dinner-bill from it. Where 
did he get it! 

‘‘Where he got the first!’’ suggested Harriet. 

“So I thought,” answered Pelham. “Now, he 
got the first from his mother.” Harriet’s eyes 
sparkled. “Yes, we heard what mother just read 
from Aunt Anne’s letter.” 

“Did he get it from his father!” asked Harriet. 

“I can’t suppose so,” answered Pelham. 
“I ’ve learned enough to see that there are some 
things his father won’t do for him. And I take 
it that to otfend our father is one thing that Uncle 
Dick doesn’t care to do.” 

“Then,” asked Harriet, “where did he get the 
new money!” 

“That ’s what I ’m asking you,” said her 
brother. 

They looked at each other for a while. Harri- 
et’s face grew more and more serious, and Pel- 
ham slowly nodded as he watched her. “I guess 
we agree,” he finally said. 

“It ’s the same money!” exclaimed Harriet. 

‘ ‘ I have n ’t a doubt of it, ’ ’ said Pelham. ‘ ‘ That 
will explain why he has said nothing of receiving 


264 


THE EUNAWAY 


it, and why he hates to have the wallet men^ 
tioned/’ 

^^But didn’t he lose it at all!” asked Harriet, 
surprised. 

‘‘Found it in a different pocket before he got 
home, ’ ’ answered Pelham. ‘ ‘ I can ’t see any other 
explanation of it. I was surprised when he said 
he had lost but five dollars; he knew father 
wouldn’t care about that. But he wouldn’t tell 
that he ’d not lost his wallet at all. He was 
ashamed to have made so much fuss about noth- 
ing.” 

Harriet’s face showed that she was shocked. 
‘ ‘ But, Pelham, how can any one do such a thing ! ’ ’ 

“Brian is Brian,” he answered. “I tell you, 
Harriet, I don’t think any too highly of this cousin 
of ours. — But what I want to know is, what has 
become of that wallet! Brian and I have lived in 
the same room for weeks, and I haven’t seen it 
once. He didn’t even have it the other day at 
Springfield. The roll was just loose in his pocket. 
Afraid I ’d see the wallet if he carried it, I sup- 
pose.” 

Harriet came up on her toes. “Afraid some 
one would see it. It is hidden, then, or destroyed. 
And I know which it is ! ” 


SHERLOCK HOLMES AGAIN 


265 


Pelham sprang to his feet, but before he could 
speak Harriet took him by the arm. ‘^Listen, 
Pelham. That day after I had told you all about 
Rodman’s fall down the cliff, I found Brian in the 
kitchen. He had one hand in his pocket, and with 
one he was trying to lift the cover of the stove. 
He did n’t like me to find him there.” 

‘‘Wanted to burn it,” nodded Pelham. “I 
see.” 

“I took him out into the garden,” went on Har- 
riet, speaking quietly but very earnestly. “I was 
trying to — to say something to him, but he got 
angry when I mentioned the wallet, and so I left 
him. Then I was sorry, and went back to apolo- 
gize. I found him bending over a flower bed as if 
he had been weeding it. He said he ’d just pulled 
up someithing, but when we looked to see what it 
was, we could find nothing.” 

She stopped at the bare facts, but Pelham’s 
eyes were sparkling. “Oh,” he cried, “Sherlock 
Holmes was n’t in it with me ! Harriet, I want 
to do a little digging in that flower bed.” 

“Quiet!” she warned. “I ’ll take you there. 
But first go and see where Brian is.” 

He went into the house, softly treading from 
room to room. Brian was not downstairs. Then 


266 


THE RUNAWAY 


he tiptoed a little way up the stairs. Satisfied, he 
returned to Harriet. 

‘‘He ’s in our study. I heard him tell Mr. Lee 
that he ’s writing a letter to his mother. Come 
along. ’ ’ 

They went into the garden, where the dusk had 
scarcely begun. Harriet led the way among the 
paths until they arrived at the bed where she had 
found Brian weeding. “In all these weeks, she 
said, a little doubtfully, “of course the place has 
changed a good deal with the growth of the plants. 
But I should say the spot is just behind that thick- 
est clump of asters.’’ 

Pelham twitched back his cuffs. “I may have 
to spoil them for you.” 

“Never mind,” answered Harriet. “I ’ll ex- 
plain to Mother, if it ’s necessary. ’ ’ 

Himself a thorough gardener, Pelham made 
nothing of thrusting his hands into the earth. 
“Not very deep, I suppose,” he said, carefully 
feeling about. “Not here, Harriet. I ’ll ex- 
plore a little.” Harriet stood watching while 
he carefully widened out the circle of his 
search. “Try under the clump,” she suggested 
at last.” 

“Well,” he said, doubtfully, and thrust his 


SHERLOCK HOLMES AGAIN 267 

hand deep under the plant. His face lighted. 
‘‘Ah!’’ 

“Got it?” she demanded. 

“Got something,” he answered. “It feels 
like — ” Slowly he drew out his hand, looked 
briefly at what he held, knocked the earth from it, 
and handed it to his sister. Then he turned to the 
flower bed again, and began to firm the earth 
around the disturbed aster. 

But Harriet was not so stoical. Seeing that in 
her hands she held a wallet, damp and earthy to 
be sure, but still a wallet, she mourned over it. 
“Oh, Pelham,” she moaned, “it ’s true! He did 
it, and it ’s true. To let us he thinking blame of 
Eodman all this time! I wouldn’t have believed 
it of anybody.” 

“Well,” said Pelham, rising and dusting off 
his hands, “it looks mighty like Brian’s work. 
There ’s no knowing why a fellow should do a 
thing like that, hut I suppose he thought he had a 
reason.” 

“The best reason he could give is a bad one,” 
replied Harriet. “Don’t try to excuse him.” 

“I won’t,” answered Pelham, gloomily. Each 
thinking of their discovery, in silence they re- 
turned to the house. 


268 


THE RUNAWAY 


For a long time they sat upon the piazza steps. 
Harriet thought only of the revelation of Brian’s 
selfishness ; Pelham, it must be admitted, had come 
to a consideration of his own cleverness in dis- 
covering his cousin’s trickery. concluded that 
he had n’t lost his money. Harriet enabled me to 
prove it. Between us we ’re a clever pair — hey, 
Pelly?” He was about to say as much to his sis- 
ter, when he perceived a figure coming up the 
walk. 

‘Ht ’s Rodman!” he exclaimed. 

Rodman it was, and Rodman in a great hurry. 
He had been running, for he was out of breath. 

‘ ‘ Harriet, ’ ’ he gasped, stopping in front of her, 
and paying no attention to Pelham, who was in 
the shadow, ‘ ‘ Harriet, have you got it still 1 ’ ’ His 
tone was low and cautious. 

Harriet rose quickly. Pelham thought she also 
gasped. With a half frightened movement, she 
turned and looked at him. 

‘‘Hullo, Rodman,” said Pelham. 

“Oh,” he answered, startled, “I didn’t see 
you. — And where is Mr. Lee?” 

“In the house,” answered Harriet. “Rodman, 
do you wish to speak with me alone?” 

“Never mind Pelham,” said Rodman. “He 


SHERLOCK HOLMES AGAIN 


269 


knows more than I wish he did, and might as well 
know yet more. — Harriet, have yon still got it T ^ 

‘^Tell me plainly what you mean,’’ she said, 
want what I gave you up there in the field, 
when I was hurt. But Mr. Lee mustn’t see it.” 

Rodman’s voice was eager and earnest; he still 
spoke cautiously and low. Pelham, looking at 
him in surprise, saw that he was again quite as 
agitated as he had been in the morning. The hoy 
clasped his hands together. ^^Oh, please get it 
for me quickly!” 

‘^Pelham,” directed Harriet, ‘‘will you go and 
see if any one is in our study? Go openly, as if 
you weren’t looking for anything in particular.” 

“And see where Mr. Lee is,” added Rodman. 

“For Heaven’s sake!” thought the hoy to him- 
self. Brian had had a mystery all these weeks, 
and now here were Harriet and Rodman with an- 
other. Mr. Lee was in some way mixed up in it. 
“In another minute I ’ll be all in a whirl once 
more,” he thought. “How can these innocent- 
looking persons — ^my own sister, by gracious! — 
keep all these things to themselves?” 

He went into the house. The question as to 
Mr. Lee was at once answered, for in the writing- 
room he was talking with Bob and Mr. Dodd. 


270 THE KUNAWAY 

Pelham heard the tones of all three voices while 
for a minute he stood in the hall. He went up- 
stairs. From his own room came the sound of 
Brian’s whistle, and as he passed the door he saw 
his cousin tying his necktie before the mirror. 
As it was Brian ’s custom frequently to change his 
adornments, Pelham knew that he was safe for 
some minutes. He glanced into the little study. 
It was empty, and on Harriet’s desk, where Brian 
had apparently been writing, lay a letter, ad- 
dressed and stamped. Satisfied, he went quickly 
downstairs. 

Coast is clear,” he said, briefly. ‘‘But Brian 
may come soon. ’ ’ 

Harriet slipped into the house, and he heard her 
speeding up the stairs. On the gravel at the foot 
of the steps Eodman moved restlessly about. 
“Won’t you come up?” invited Pelham. 

“Thanks,” replied Rodman. “I ’ll have to go 
in a moment.” And still he shifted from foot to 
foot, and looked nervously at the windows of the 
house. Mr. Lee’s laugh sounded through the 
open door, and the boy started. 

“Will you explain all this to me?” demanded 
Pelham of himself. He could find no key to it all. 

Then Harriet came quietly out again. In her 


SHERLOCK HOLMES AGAIN 


271 


hand she had gathered her skirt as if the more 
easily to come downstairs. She looked around 
her, listened a moment at the door, and then came 
to the top of the steps. Her hand came away 
from her skirt, and she held out something which 
Pelham could not clearly see. 

‘^Here it is,’^ she said. /‘It was exactly where 
I put it. So far as I know, no one has seen it.’’ 

Rodman sprang up the steps and took it from 
her. “Thanks!” he said. Not another word did 
he utter,, but Pelham felt that it expressed both 
gratitude and relief. He thrust his hand inside 
his jacket, bowed hurriedly, and started away. 
Over his shoulder he threw back a ‘ ‘ Good-night ! ’ ’ 
Then he was gone. 

Harriet turned to her brother. “I ’m glad 
that ’s over with,” she said. Her voice also ex- 
pressed relief. 

“ Gollyrampus ! ” cried Pelham, “what is all this 
that ’s going on? Was that a wallet that you 
gave him?” 

“Yes,” answered Harriet. 

‘ ‘ Where have you been keeping it ? ” 

“In the secret drawer in my desk.” 

“Why did he ask you to keep it?” 

“I don’t know.” 


272 


THE RUNAWAY 


‘‘What has Mr. Lee to do with itT’ 

“I don’t know.” 

“What did Rodman want it back for?” 

“I don’t know,” said Harriet for the third 
time. Then suddenly she pnt her face in her 
hands. Her shoulders rose and fell. Pelham saw 
that she was weeping. 

“Why, old girl,” he said, putting his arm 
around her. ‘ ‘ Cheer up ! Nothing ’s wrong now, 
is it?” 

She raised her face, moist with tears, from her 
hands. “Pelham, don’t you see what this 
means?” 

“I ’m clean puzzled,” he admitted. 

“Rodman gave me the wallet just after he had 
been hurt. We were alone together ; I ’d sent the 
girls to get Nate. I told him I ’d keep it and tell 
nobody.” 

“After he had fallen,” stated Pelham, try- 
ing to get the facts clean in his hand. “Before 
he had his fever, then?” 

“Yes,” answered Harriet. “I thought when 
I got home that the wallet was Brian’s, and was 
going to give it to him, or to Father. But then I 
looked at it carefully, and knew it couldn’t be 
Brian’s — it was older, and longer, and had a name 


SHERLOCK HOLMES AGAIN 273 


I couldn’t read. So I kept it and said notk- 
ing.” 

Golly!” mused Pelham. ‘‘So he had a wal- 
let after all, hut not Brian’s!” 

“But,” asked Harriet, and her tears started 
afresh, “don’t you see that if Rodman gave me 
the wallet before he was sick, and comes and asks 
for it now — ?” 

“Whee!” whistled Pelham. “Then he’s got 
just as good a memory as you or I ! ” 

“Yes,” said Harriet. “And he ’s been deceiv- 
ing us ! ” 

“So he has,” agreed Pelham, resentful, yet 
still puzzled. 

For now his head was truly spinning again. 
Brian and Rodman and Mr. Lee and two wallets 
seemed in hopeless confusion. “I wish,” he ad- 
mitted to himself, “that I were Sherlock Hohnes 
after all.” 


CHAPTER XVin 


CONCERNING MB. LEE 


ISTEN,’’ Nate had said on the afternoon of 



I J this day when so much had been happening. 

There ’s an automobile cornin’ np the hill. It ’s 
passed the cross-roads, so it must be cornin’ here. 
As there ’s but one such machine in this town, I 
s’pose it ’s Mr. Lee that ’s cornin’.” 

Rodman suddenly turned his back. It was 
scarcely two hours since he had snatched Mr. 
Lee ’s pistol, and at the recollection the boy shiv- 
ered, but Nate did not notice. ‘‘Cornin’ to ask me 
some more, I reckon. I told him most all I knew 
the other day. He ’s a smart young feller, an’ I 
like him. — Yes, thar he is.” 

Mr. Lee, coming up the walk, found the two 
seated by the door, engaged in shredding finely 
some bark which Nate had just brought from the 
woods. “For my work,” Nate explained, as he 
shook hands. ‘ ‘ Fer certain shades o ’ yeller, now 
— but p’r’aps you ain’t talkin’ business to-day, 
seein’ it ’s Saturday.” 


274 


CONCERNING MR. LEE 


275 


tell tlie truth./’ answered Mr. Lee, shaking 
his head in response to Nate’s invitation to a seat, 
an invitation conveyed by a wave of the hand, 
’m not on business now. I came for a talk 
with Rodman.” 

Rodman, who had been sitting quietly, looked np 
with compressed lips. He studied Mr. Lee 
searchingly. 

‘ ^ Sho ! ’ ’ exclaimed Nate. ‘ ‘Well, Rodman, take 
Mr. Lee out to see our view. I can’t hear ye from 
there, ’less ye take to quarrelin’.” 

Still silent, Rodman led the way around the 
house to a place where, on the brow of the hill, a 
rustic seat had been made. Below it the valley 
was spread, showing a different view from that 
on the other side of the house. Little of the town 
was visible, but more of the river and the pond, 
with a wide sweep of woods and hills. Rodman 
waited till Mr. Lee had seated himself. Then, in 
an aspect of dejection, he placed himself as far 
from his visitor as possible. 

Mr. Lee, with his arm stretched along the bench, 
looked at the boy’s bent head. “Cheer up,” he 
said. “Nothing for you to be doleful about. 
That was mighty well done this morning, my boy. 
To take a fellow’s pistol away — !” 


276 


THE RUNAWAY 


Rodman stiffened. ‘ ‘ It was awful ! ^ ’ lie said in 
a trembling voice. 

^‘Took all your courage, did itT’ inquired the 
other. ‘‘Gad, it pleased me to see that you had 
the stuff in you. I couldn’t have done half so 
well at your age.” 

Rodman turned on him suddenly. “Oh,” he 
said in a choked voice, “won’t you go away?” 
The other looked at him inquiringly. “From this 
town, I mean,” the boy went on. 

“And never come back?” asked the other. 

Rodman bent his head. 

Mr. Lee spoke softly. “Will you come with 
me?” 

The boy shuddered. The man leaned toward 
him. His handsome eyes were tender, and he laid 
his hand affectionately on Rodman’s shoulder. 
His voice, when he spoke, thrilled with feeling. 

“Come away with me, Rodman! Just you and 
me in the car; we ’ll see the country, the moun- 
tains, the cities, any part that interests you. I ’ll 
tour with you to California ; I ’ll show you every- 
thing to interest you. If you say the word, I ’ll 
take you to Europe, and stay with you there.” 

Rodman listened with quivering lips. The af- 
fection in the voice, the gentle touch on his shoul- 


CONCERNING MR. LEE 


277 


der, went to Ms very heart. Yet slowly lie gained 
Ms self-command, and when he turned to reply he 
could speak without faltering. 

M go with you anywhere — ’’ 

Mr. Lee smiled quickly. The answer was bet- 
ter than he hoped. At the sight of the joy in his 
face Rodman was almost dumb. Yet he managed 
to proceed. 

— If only — ’’ 

Mr. Lee raised his hand. “You need nT go any 
further. ’ ^ For a moment his tone was bitter, and 
then a cry was wrenched from him. “Rodman, 
I Ve missed you so ! ’ ’ 

Rodman drew in his breath sharply; the sound 
was like a sob. But he commanded his features, 
and when the other looked at him the hoy’s face 
was set and firm. One would have said that he 
was judging the man. But he said nothing, and 
waited. 

Mr. Lee’s face grew hard. “Well,” he said, 
slowly, “you ’re a stiff one to deal with. No re- 
lenting from you.” His tone changed, and he 
spoke sharply. “Now tell me where it is!” 

Rodman’s mouth set in a straight line, and he 
shook his head. His eyes met the man’s without 
flinching. 


278 


THE RUNAWAY 


‘^Thanks/’ said the other. ‘‘I ’m glad,” — and 
he sneered — ^‘that you don’t pretend not to re- 
member. So you know where it is and won’t 
tell?” 

‘‘At least I won’t tell,” answered Rodman. 

“And you are a moral young gentleman,” went 
on the other. “What other people do is wrong, 
but what you do is right. You are developing 
nicely. Suppose I tell these friends of yours my 
opinion of you?” 

Rodman gave him one look of appeal, but said 
nothing. 

“And after all that I have done for you,” con- 
tinued the other. “I have worked hard for you. 
I have watched you when you were sick, I have 
given up my days and nights that you might have 
comfort and plenty — ” 

“Don’t!” cried Rodman, unhappily. 

“Wlien you were at school, I was working in 
the city; when — ” 

“Don’t! Don’t!” cried Rodman, sharply. 

“And it all amounts to this, that I may go my 
way at the end, because you have found a soft 
place for yourself. Here you will rest, and let 
other people take care of you, and what becomes 
of me — ” 


CONCERNING MR. LEE 


279 


Rodman was sobbing alond. The sound 
stopped the other in the middle of his denuncia- 
tion. His face softened, he paused a moment, and 
then stretched out his hand to touch the boy. 

But it was wrenched violently aside, and Nate, 
with flashing eyes, stood over Rodman. ‘‘Hands 
off!’’ he cried. “Consarn ye, what do you 
meanr’ 

Rodman sprang up, while Mr. Lee slowly rose. 
“Nate,” cried the boy, “don’t be angry!” 

But Nate was furious. “What are ye about?” 
he demanded. ‘ ‘ Bullying the boy, are ye ? Clear 
off this place!” 

He pointed to the path that led around the 
house. Rodman seized his arm. “Nate^ oh, 
Nate!” But Nate unflinchingly confronted the 
visitor, and with his glance commanded him to go. 

There was no resentment in Mr. Lee’s face as 
he picked up his hat from the grass. “Nate is 
right, ’ ’ he said to the boy. ‘ ‘ Cheer up, Rodman ; 
this is just the way it ought to be — ^your friends 
ordering me from their doors.” 

The boy cried out miserably, and Nate’s eye 
flashed. “Stop it!” he commanded. 

“I ’m going,” said Lee, quietly. “Good-by.” 
He strode away to his car. 


280 


THE RUNAWAY 


Thinking deeply, he coasted slowly down the 
hill. Having nothing else to do, he went to the 
ball game, but watched it listlessly. Much was 
on his mind. Occasionally he studied the two 
boys, Pelham and Brian, as they came near him. 
He chatted with them whenever they sat on the 
grass by his side. His conclusion was that they 
were as he had supposed from the first; Pelham 
was too straight-forward and keen to be of use, 
but of Brian something might be made. 

It was with this in mind that after supper, while 
Harriet and Pelham were having their talk upon 
the piazza, Mr. Lee followed Brian when he went 
upstairs to write his letter to his mother. Brian 
sat down at Harriet’s desk, where, to be plain, he 
had no business to go. But Harriet’s notepaper 
looked attractive, since to write on the smaller 
sheets meant a shorter letter. Brian hated writ- 
ing. 

He smiled with a little constraint when he saw 
Mr. Lee in the doorway. Forgetting that Mr. Lee 
could not know at whose desk he sat, he explained. 
^‘Harriet won’t mind.” 

‘‘Oh, that’s Harriet’s desk, is it!” asked Mr. 
Lee as he seated himself. He spread out the 



Xate’s eye flashed. “Stop it!” he commanded 





CONCEENING ME. LEE 


283 


newspaper that he had brought with him. ‘ ‘Writ- 
ing home!^’ 

“ Yes/ ’ answered Brian. ‘ ‘ Darn it, I hate writ- 
ing. What ^s a fellow to sayT’ 

“Oh,’^ explained Mr. Lee easily. “Just tell 
about this afternoon’s ballgame, and say you ’re 
having a bully time, and ask for some money.” 

Brian grunted and began his task. For per- 
haps five minutes his pen scratched busily ; then it 
slowed down, and like the dropping of water from 
the eaves after a rain, finally ceased. He stared 
at the wall. 

“Stuck?” inquired Mr. Lee. 

“Yes,” growled Brian. “The ballgame really 
hadn’t much to it. — I don’t know what to say 
next.” 

Mr. Lee laughed. “Tell about our trip to 
Springfield. If you get to comparing the place 
with New York, you ought to last out the rest of 
the letter.” 

‘ ‘ Good ! ’ ’ exclaimed Brian, and dipped his pen. 
He bent his head sideways, wrote “On,” and 
stopped. 

'“What day did we go to Springfield?” he 
asked. 


284 


THE KUNAWAY 


Wednesday/^ was the answer. ‘‘Thursday 
perhaps. My dear boy, that is one of the things 
that does n’t matter in a letter.” 

“Doesn’t matter!” exclaimed Brian. “It’s 
just two words more I ’ ’ 

Mr. Lee laughed heartily. “You rogue!” 
Brian, feeling somehow as if he- had been very 
clever, and yet a hit conscious that the joke, when 
properly analyzed, was not entirely in his favor, 
wrote again. Presently he stopped, laid down his 
pen, and looked at the books above him on the top 
of the desk. “No dictionary,” he muttered. 

Mr. Lee emerged from his paper. ‘ ‘ What ? ” he 
inquired. 

“Nothing,” said Brian. Frowning as if try- 
ing to think, he idly moved the inkstand about, 
and finally began opening and shutting the little 
drawers that were ranged before him. At length 
his eyes were attracted by the two little half col- 
umns that guarded the wide central pigeonhole. 

Putting his hand on one, he found it movable. 

“Hullo!” he exclaimed, and pulled at it. Mr. 
Lee lowered his newspaper and watched him. 

The column, when drawn forward, brought with 
it a section of the desk. “Gee!” said Brian, and 
continued to pull. The whole came away in his 


Mr. Lee lowered his newspaper and watched him 




CONCERNING MR. LEE 287 

hand. When it was free from the desk, Brian 
looked it all over and found that it was hollow. 

‘^It ’s a kind of a drawer!’’ he said, surprised. 

^^Yes,” answered Mr. Lee. ‘‘Secret drawers 
are common in those old desks. ’ ’ 

“A secret drawer!” exclaimed Brian, excited. 
“There ’s something in this one.” He pulled at 
it. Saying nothing, Mr. Lee watched him. 

“It ’s leather,” said Brian, at first unable to 
grasp it, and again peering in. “A big pocket- 
book, I should say. Harriet says this desk is very 
old, — do you suppose I ’ve discovered something 
that ’s been there a long time? — Look!” 

He exhibited a long wallet. Putting down the 
little drawer, he turned the wallet over in his 
hands. Mr. Lee, his mouth firmly closed, his eyes 
sparkling, watched him keenly. 

“There ’s initials on it,” said Brian. “ J. W. 
L.” 

“Family initials, perhaps?” inquired Mr. Lee. 
Bending forward in his chair, he looked like a 
sprinter ready to leap into action. 

“No,” answered Brian. “I ’m going to open 
it.’^ He slipped his finger between the sides of 
the closed wallet. 

With a quick action, yet so easily and gracefully 


288 


THE KUNAWAY 


made that its suddenness was scarcely apparent, 
Mr. Lee was at the boy’s side. He put a hand on 
Brian’s shoulder. Brian, my hoy — ” 

Brian looked up at him somewhat guiltily. 
‘‘That ’s not yours, you know,” reminded Mr. 
Lee. His tone was fatherly and gentle. “I ’d 
put it back if I were you. ’ ’ 

Brian flushed deeply. “I wasn’t really going 
to open it, ’ ’ he muttered. His eyes dropped. 

“Just forget that you ’ve seen it,” advised Mr. 
Lee. “If you spoke to Harriet or Pelham — or 
any one, in fact — about it, you ’d come in for some 
criticism. ’ ’ 

“I wasn’t going to look into it,” repeated 
Brian. He picked up the drawer and began to 
thrust the wallet inside. Saying no more, Mr. 
Lee went back to his seat; and Brian, having re- 
placed the secret drawer, again picked up his pen. 

“I say,” he said after a moment’s silence, 
‘ ‘ those buildings over in Springfield are called the 
municipal group, are n’t they!” 

“Yes,” answered Mr. Lee. 

“How do you spell municipahr’ 

Mr. Lee told him, and Brian resumed his writ- 
ing. Mr. Lee, however, had laid down his paper, 
and sat, whistling softly to himself. He had torn 


CONCERNING MR. LEE 


289 


a sheet of the paper, and was folding and refold- 
ing it with much care. 

When the letter was written and stamped, Brian 
regarded it with some satisfaction. ‘‘That ’s 
done ! ” he said, thankfully. He rose and yawned, 
keeping an nncomfortable eye npon Mr. Lee, as if 
in anticipation of a lecture npon prying into other 
people ^s desks. 

But Mr. Lee regarded him with a mild and 
beneficent eye. “Good for you!” he responded. 
“And now you ’re going out, I suppose.” 

“Presently,” answered Brian, and gladly es- 
caped from the room. 

Scarcely had he gone when Mr. Lee rose quickly 
from his chair. A moment he stood listening, and 
then in a couple of strides he was at Harriet’s 
desk. He put his hand on the secret drawer, then 
listened again. In his eyes was once more the 
light of daring, and on his lips a jaunty smile. 
He nodded in satisfaction at the silence, drew out 
the drawer, and pulled from it the wallet. Act- 
ing without further hesitation, yet without haste, 
he laid down the drawer and opened the wallet. 
From it he drew a bundle of folded papers, put 
them in his pocket, and in the wallet he thrust the 
newspaper which he had so carefully folded. The 


290 


THE RUNAWAY 


size and thickness of this not suiting him, he drew 
it out, folded it again, put it back, and once more 
examined the elfect. Satisfied, he thrust the wal- 
let again into the drawer, and put the drawer in 
place. 

Then with a smile of triumph he went again to 
his chair. Whistling under his breath, he took out 
the papers and ran them over rapidly. They 
were stiff and crinkly; some were marked with 
but a few lines of writing, others were fully and 
handsomely engraved in green or brown. Still 
whistling, and repeatedly nodding in satisfaction, 
Mr. Lee looked at each one. ‘ ‘ All here, ’ ’ he said 
at the end, and smiled. Putting them in an inside 
pocket, he rose and went downstairs. In scarcely 
ten minutes, Harriet had come for the wallet. 

In the writing-room he found Mr. Dodd, who 
laid down his pen as his visitor entered. ‘‘Can I 
do anything for you?’^ 

“Finish your writing,’^ answered Mr. Lee. 
“I T1 ask you for a little of your time after- 
wards.’’ But Mr. Dodd insisting that his letter 
was of no immediate importance, Mr. Lee was 
presently seated and began to speak. 

“You ’ve been so good to me,” he said, “that I 
am thinking of asking a further favor of you. 


CONCERNING MR. LEE 


291 


You have told me everything that I need to know, 
and you Ve made me realize that I ought to he 
about getting my mill equipped if I wish to start it 
running before winter. Now I Ve got my build- 
ing, and am sure of my power, but I must put in 
a turbine and get my machines. ’ ’ 

Mr. Dodd nodded. ‘^It ’s a good three months^ 
work. ’ ’ 

‘‘Yes,’’ agreed Mr. Lee. “I have no time 
to spare. This is Saturday, and I think I ’ll 
have to go on Monday. ’ ’ 

“I am sorry,” said Mr. Dodd. “Still, I think 
you ’re right to go. Now what is your favor? I 
feel as if I had done very little for you so far.” 

“Well,” began the other, “I feel a little awk- 
ward about beginning — ” He paused. 

“You ’d like me to advance you some money?” 
inquired the other. 

Mr. Lee laughed in relief. “I suppose people 
have asked you so often that you ’re used to the 
signs. Yes, Mr. Dodd, I must have some cash. 
Now here,” and he drew from his pocket the 
papers that had so recently lain in Bodman’s 
wallet, “here is my collateral.” He gave the 
papers to Mr. Dodd. “You will recognize these 
as first-class securities.” 


292 


THE RUNAWAY 


Mr. Dodd took the papers gravely. As he ran 
them over he occasionally smiled to himself ; then, 
with an ‘‘Excuse me,^^ he got out a hook from his 
desk. With this book and a pencil he made jot- 
tings upon a slip of paper until he had before him 
a column of figures. This he added up. 

“These are very good collateral indeed,’^ he 
said. “The very best of investment securities. 
I calculate, roughly of course, that you have here 
about twenty thousand, two hundred and forty 
dollars. ’ ^ 

“Yes,’’ answered Mr. Lee. “A little more or 
a little less makes no difference. I don’t need any 
such sum in order to start in the simple manner 
in which I shall begin; my plant will he a small 
one, and I shall hire my machines. Certainly I 
shall not want to realize on most of these securi- 
ties until later. — Now what I should like to pro- 
pose, Mr. Dodd, is to leave these papers with you, 
and get say seventy-five hundred dollars in cash 
for my beginning. If I find in a few months that 
I shall need more, then I can perhaps ask for a 
few thousand extra.” 

Mr. Dodd sat and considered. “I don’t usually 
do this sort of thing,” he remarked after a 
pause. 


CONCERNING MR. LEE 


293 


course I could go to a bank/’ said Mr. Lee. 
would mean my running down to New York, 
however, and that I should like to avoid. ’ ’ 

Mr. Dodd considered the question for several 
minutes. There is no need of your going to a 
bank,” he finally said. ‘^On such security I can 
give you the money you want ; even more, if need 
be.” 

Mr. Lee thanked him. ‘‘Perhaps you will let 
me take you to Winton Monday — I suppose you 
will have to draw the money there?” 

“Yes,” replied Mr. Dodd, answering both ques- 
tions. “It would save time. — And don’t thank 
me, Mr. Lee. You know we all owe you a great 
deal. Now will you have these securities back 
again ? ’ ’ But he did not offer them. ‘ ‘ If you will 
let me say so, I think you rather reckless to carry 
such things about you. Every one of them is ne- 
gotiable, and you would have great trouble in re- 
covering their value if they were lost. Hadn’t 
you better let me lock them up for you over Sun- 
day?” 

Mr. Lee laughed. “I suppose I am careless,” 
he admitted. “But I ’m used to carrying round 
with me pretty big sums. However, lock them up 
for me, Mr. Dodd. It ’s the right thing to do.” 


294 


THE RUNA'WAY 


will have a receipt inquired Mr. Dodd, 
turning to his desk. 

“Not between us,’’ answered Mr. Lee. “I 
know I ’m safe in your hands, Mr. Dodd.” 

Mr. Dodd went to the wall, swung out a panel, 
and revealed a small safe. Around it was brick- 
work, and its door, when after a little manipula- 
tion Mr. Dodd opened it, was at least a foot thick. 
Mr. Dodd locked the papers inside. “We con- 
sider that fireproof,” he said, simply, and closed 
the subject by asking, “Shan’t we get Harriet to 
play for us? And we should like to hear you 
sing. ’ ’ 

Mr. Lee sang all the more charmingly because 
he was satisfied with his evening’s work. 


CHAPTEE XIX 


EODMAN EXPLAINS 

N ate/’ said Eodman, want to tell you 
something. ’ ’ 

It was Sunday morning. The two, having 
eaten breakfast, had finished washing up, and for 
some time had been sitting silently on the bench 
outside the door. It was rare for them to be 
quiet, for usually either Nate or Eodman had 
something to say. 

Nate turned to the boy and looked at him 
soberly. ^^Want to tell me something^ I was 
just goin’ to say the same to you. Which will tell 
first?” 

‘‘You,” answered Eodman with relief, as if 
glad to put off an unpleasant task. 

“Well,” began Nate, “it ain’t easy tellin’. 
You remember that all yesterday afternoon, after 
Mr. Lee had been here a talkin’ with you, you was 
mighty nervous, and seemed to be doin’ a lot o’ 
thinkin^ After supper you suddenly made up 

295 


296 


THE RUNAWAY 


your mind that you ’d go down into the town, an ’ 
came back all out o’ breath. You won’t be sur- 
prised if I tell you you did n’t sleep very well. ” 
Somewhat startled, Rodman looked up quickly. 
‘ ‘ Did I talk in my sleep ? ’ ’ 

Nate nodded. ‘‘You waked me ’long about two 
o’clock, an’ I went in to see if you was sick. I 
could n’t find that you was feverish; you was jus’ 
talkin’ about Mr. Lee, an’ Harriet, an’ a wallet.” 
Nate looked at the boy searchingly. 

Rodman dropped his eyes, hut answered noth- 
ing. After a pause, Nate went on. 

“You were a lyin’ with your hand under the 
pillow. Jes’ as I was goin’ away, fearin’ the light 
might wake you, you made a restless kind of a 
movement, an’ out from under the pillow dropped 
— that wallet that you ’ve got in your pocket ! ’ ’ 
“Oh, Nate,” wailed Rodman, “I ’m sorry that 
I did n’t speak first. I was going to tell you about 
it.” 

“You was!” asked Nate, beginning to smile. 
“Well, I ’m powerful glad. I picked the wallet 
up last night, and put it under your pillow again, 
but I didn’t like your not tellin’ me.” 

Rodman drew the wallet from his pocket, and 
eagerly pressed it into Nate’s hands. “Take it,” 


RODMAN EXPLAINS 


297 


lie cried. ‘‘I was going to tell yon, and to ask yon 
to keep it for me. I felt it wasn’t safe, down 
there in the honse where Mr. Lee lived. ’ ’ 

Nate frowned. ^^Mr. Lee? I don’t know what 
this feller, that comes along here accidental like, 
has to do with yon.” 

’ll tell yon everything,” offered the hoy. 

Nate looked at him very soberly. ^Mf yon can 
tell me anything/^ he said, frowning, ‘‘then it 
seems to me that yon can remember more than yon 
let on.” 

Tears started to Rodman’s eyes. “I ’ve been 
deceiving yon, deceiving everybody, ’ ’ he admitted. 
“Bnt, Nate, I had reasons that I thonght were 
good.” 

As he gazed npon the hoy Nate’s clonded brow 
gradnally cleared. “I have n’t a donbt of it,” he 
said. “Rodman, I always said ye were straight, 
even if ye were trickin’ ns. — So I am to take 
care of this for ye, especially as against this Mr. 
Lee. Well, I ’ll take it, bnt first I want to know 
what ’s in it. I can’t keep gnard of anybody’s 
property withont knowin’ jes’ how mnch I ’m re- 
sponsible for.” 

“I ’ll tell yon,” said Rodman, readily. “Here, 
let me show yon. ’ ’ Taking the wallet from Nate ’s 


298 


THE RUNAWAY 


hands, he opened it and drew out — a folded piece 
of newspaper ! 

The wallet fell to the ground, and the boy, hold- 
ing the newspaper with shaking hand, looked at it 
in dismay. ‘‘Nate!’^ he gasped. 

Nate took the paper from him. ‘^Lo.oks like 
you didn’t expect to find this ’ere.” 

^‘No.” Eodman fairly sobbed. ‘‘There were 
certificates there. — Oh, when were they 
changed?” 

Nate was looking at the newspaper as he opened 
it out. “Where ’s this wallet been all this 
while ? ’ ’ 

“Harriet was keeping it. Last night I went 
and got it. — Perhaps it ’s had newspaper in it 
all the time. But then, why should he want it?” 

“He ’5 Mr. Lee, I reckon,” remarked Nate. 
“This paper couldn’t ’a been in the wallet before 
yesterday.” 

“How do you know?” demanded the boy. 

“It ’s yesterday’s paper,” explained Nate, 
pointing to the date. “More ’n that, it couldn’t 
’a been put in before last night. This says, 
‘Evenin’ edition.’ It couldn’t ’a reached town 
before last night’s mail.” 

“Then it was changed yesterday evening,” 


RODMAN EXPLAINS 


299 


cried Rodman, starting up. ^ ‘ He can ^t have taken 
them away yet. Nate, we must go and see Mr. 
Dodd.’’ 

^^Sure,” responded Nate, rising with alacrity. 
‘^Anything that will get that young gentleman into 
trouble will suit me to a T.” 

But Rodman, not hearing the end of Nate’s re- 
mark, had already started down hill. “Here, 
your hat!” called Nate. He snatched up. Rod- 
man ’s hat and his own, and followed hastily. 

In their brisk walk Rodman kept a little ahead 
of Nate until they came in sight of the Dodd house, 
hut then Nate put a restraining hand on his shoul- 
der. ‘ ‘ Don ’t go blundering into him, ’ ’ he warned. 

“There ’s, Pelham in the garden,” said Rod- 
man. “Let ’s call him.” 

Pelham, still puzzling over his new problems, 
found himself beckoned to with gestures of se- 
crecy. He went quickly to the gate, “Where ’s 
Mr. Lee?” asked Rodman. 

‘ ‘ Out on the pond with Bob, ’ ’ answered Pelham. 

“Good!” exclaimed Rodman with relief. 
‘ ‘ Pelham, we want to see your father. ’ ’ 

“Come in then,” invited Pelham. “He ’s in 
the writing-room.” He led them to the door of 
the room, and would then have gone away, hut 


300 


THE RUNAWAY 


Rodman held his arm. ‘ ‘ I want you to hear what 
I have to say, ’ ’ he whispered, and Pelham yielded. 

‘‘Good morning,’’ and “Come in,” said Mr. 
Dodd from the desk. ‘ ‘ Anything new 1 ’ ’ 

“Rodman has something to say,” replied the 
dyer, leading in the boy. “An’ seemin’ly he 
wants Pelham to stay.” 

“I ’ve got something to tell you, Mr. Dodd,” 
said Rodman, bravely. His voice shook a little, 
but he looked straight into Mr. Dodd’s eyes. 
“Pelham knows so much of it that I want him to 
hear the rest. I wish now that I had told it all 
to you at the very first, hut I never thought it 
would all come to this.” 

Mr. Dodd looked at him thoughtfully. “You 
remind me of people in books who speak in rid- 
dles,” he said. “Am I to understand that your 
memory has — come back?” 

Rodman looked down. “I never lost it,” he 
said in a low voice. Then in the silence he spoke 
again quickly, looking again into Mr. Dodd’s eyes. 
“But, sir, if you will remember, I never said I 
could n’t remember, except at the very beginning. 
When I first came to myself I truly had forgotten 
how I was hurt, but everything else I remembered 
clearly. Day after day, while I was getting well. 


RODMAN EXPLAINS 


301 


I lay and wondered how I conld give an account 
of myself, without — without saying too much. 
And since I did n’t ask questions, nor talk of my- 
self, I saw it seemed strange to you all, even to 
the doctor. And before I knew it I found you all 
ready to believe that I ’d lost my memory. All I 
had to do after that was to look troubled when- 
ever any question was asked me.” 

Mr. Dodd did not know whether to laugh or to 
frown. ‘^You had your reasons, Rodman?” 

‘ ^ I had good reasons, sir. I thought at first they 
would only last until I could go away. But you 
were all so kind, and I feared to go away where I 
knew nobody, — and I wasn’t well, sir.” 

‘‘That you wasn’t,” put in Nate, earnestly. 

“You were all so considerate, Mr. Dodd,” said 
Rodman with a little smile. “If once you had 
really settled down to question me, I should have 
had to tell.” His smile grew regretful and apol- 
ogetic. “It bothered me very much, sir, to he 
taking advantage of so much kindness.” 

“Rodman,” began Mr. Dodd, after a moment’s 
pause, in which he keenly studied the hoy, “when 
I think how young you are, and how very trying 
your position must have been, it seems to me that 
you have done very well what you thought you 


I 


302 THE KUNAWAY 

had to do. You merely allowed us to deceive our- 
selves. But now those reasons of yours. I un- 
derstand that you Ve come to explain them? 
Suppose you begin. Sit down, all of you.” 

Ve got to go hack to the very beginning,” 
began Eodman, when they all were seated. ‘‘I 
don^t remember my father and mother, Mr. Dodd. 
All I can go back to is my older brother, who 
brought me up. Our name, sir, is Lee. ’ ^ 

‘‘Lee!” ejaculated Mr. Dodd. 

“Lee!” cried Nate, starting from his chair. 
“Lee!” gasped Pelham. Why hadn’t he 
guessed it? 



CHAPTEE XX 

EODMAN^S STOEY 

S O Eodman’s true name was Lee! Nate, Pel- 
ham, and Mr. Dodd all stared at him. They 
glimpsed a part of his secret, and it overcame 
them. 

am James Eodman Lee,’’ went on the boy, 
simply. ‘‘My brother is John Wilson Lee. He 
is out with Bob on the pond.” 

Mr. Dodd, rising, walked once up and down the 
room. Nate, with a long sigh, slowly sank hack 
in his chair. Pelham, scarcely able to control 
himself, felt like snickering. But by the time Mr. 
Dodd had once more seated himself they had all 
been able to master their surprise. “Go on,” 
said Mr. Dodd, simply. 

“My brother is twelve years older than I,” 
said Eodman. “He took a pride in bringing me 
up. The more I think of it, Mr. Dodd, the more I 
admire him for it. He is naturally bold; he ’d 
have gone West, to the mining camps, or to some 
such kind of work, if it had n’t been for me. But 

303 


304 


THE RUNAWAY 


lie wanted to educate me. So lie settled down 
into railroad work, whicli suited him best here in 
the East, and sent me to the best private schools 
after I was eight years old. I had very good 
schooling, sir, until a couple of years ago. ’ ^ 

knowed it,^’ murmured Nate, half aloud. 

For his part, Pelham was listening with all his 
ears. Rodman’s story astonished him not merely 
for the tale itself, but for the manner in which it 
was told. This boy, Pelham realized, had had 
deep experiences, and in them he had learned to 
think. 

‘‘Then,” went on Rodman, “my brother met 
with very bad treatment. The man above him in 
the railroad took a dislike to him. I think that he 
was afraid of him, for Wilson is very clever, and 
had been promoted very fast. This man man- 
aged to have him discharged.” 

Mr. Dodd sighed. “It ’s done every day. I 
have met with many cases. ’ ’ 

“It was just at the beginning of vacation,” said 
Rodman. “He told me that I must work that 
summer — for he had no savings. He was always 
very confident and hopeful, and had never seen 
the use of saving. He got me a place in an office, 
sir, and tried for a new position himself. But he 



Rodmaai explains 



RODMAN’S STORY 


307 


failed, sir. He couldn’t get a recommendation 
from the railroad company, for that man was very 
mean about it all. Wilson always felt that he 
tried to prevent his employment in any railroad. 
And besides that, all the positions that came to 
him were of the kind he would n ’t take. 

^^He is very proud, sir. He had at first suc- 
ceeded so well that he expected always to succeed. 
We had a good many talks about it. I told him 
that if he ’d begin again somewhere at the bottom, 
I knew he would succeed again. He wouldn’t 
try it, Mr. Dodd. It hurt his pride too much. 

‘^And then, when it was too late for me to go 
back to school again, and when I ’d been working 
in several employments, getting better places, and 
really able to support myself, he began to be pros- 
perous again. But he hadn’t any work. I 
couldn’t understand it at first, even though he 
told me he was in a commission line of business. 
I suppose I was too young to understand, except 
that I knew from the way he wouldn’t explain 
things to me that something was wrong. I think 
now he was gambling. He would like the risk of 
it ; he was very cool, and nothing ever pleased him 
so much as a touch of danger. Gambling must be 
the same sort of thing to him as danger. So he 


308 


THE RUNAWAY 


kept on, and the second year he said I was to go 
hack to school again. I told him that nnless he 
told me where he got his money I wonld n’t go.” 

Pelham was amazed. That was the sort of 
thing that Eodman was capable of doing! He 
knew now why, by a sort of instinct, he had al- 
ways respected the hoy qnite as much as he liked 
him. 

‘Ht hurt me terribly, Mr. Dodd,” said Eodman 
with a distressed face, ‘‘that he wouldn’t tell me 
about himself any more. I knew he got his money 
wrongly. And I couldn’t bear to benefit by it. 
I asked him again to take any kind of work where 
I could work with him; I offered to go West with 
him. But he would n’t go ; he said he was hurt by 
my suspicion of him, and he was satisfied here. 

“Then things went wrong again. He spent 
his money, and no more came in. He simply 
couldn’t save. And then, sir, I suppose he felt 
desperate, for he did an awful thing, and I saw 
him do it. 

‘ ‘ This is how I happened to be there. Down in 
New York, sir, there is a hank, the Patroon. It 
has a front door and a side door, and the latter is 
on a little narrow alley. Eight across the alley is 
another door, in a big office building; it is the of- 


KODMAN’S STORY 


•309 


fice of a life-insurance agent, I think, sir. The 
Knickerbocker Agency is the name. — Did yon 
speak, Mr. DoddT’ 

For Mr. Dodd had exclaimed, and was leaning 
forward in his chair. Never mind,’’ said he. 
“Go on.” 

“I was often sent from my office to the hank 
with messages or checks to cash for small snms. 
I ’m not very old, Mr. Dodd, hut they trusted 
me.” 

“Everybody trusts him,” murmured Nate, 
with satisfaction. 

“The shortest way was by the alley door, and 
so that morning I went there. I was perhaps 
twenty feet from the door when I saw my brother 
on the other side. I don’t know now whether he 
had seen me or not, but he was looking in the most 
awfully intent way at the door of the bank. And 
what happened was as quick as a flash. A man — 
a big man — stepped out of the door, meaning to 
cross the alley and go into the Agency. Under 
his arm he had a leather bag, a small one. And 
before I could say a word my brother took it away 
from him.” 

“Wait,” interrupted Mr. Dodd. “I want to 
ask a question or two. I know a good deal about 


310 


THE RUNAWAY 


that robbery. How could your brother^ who is 
not a large man, handle that bank-messenger so 
easily 

‘Ht is very simple,’’ explained Rodman. ‘‘My 
brother is not only very strong, but a fine wrestler. 
When there was so much talk about the Japanese 
wrestling, the jiu-jitsu, he studied it. I have seen 
him practise his tricks. He taught me some of 
them. WTien Brian tried to take the wallet from 
me in the woods, ’ ’ and Rodman turned to Pelham, 
“it was one of my brother’s wrestling tricks I 
used to throw him down with. — And so, Mr. 
Dodd, it was very easy for him to hold the man’s 
arms and shake the bag out of them. Then he 
struck him in the throat, but lightly, or he might 
have injured him badly. The man simply leaned 
up against the wall and gasped; he couldn’t do 
anything else. My brother picked up the bag and 
walked away with it. I just ran. ’ ’ 

“The messenger was from the Knickerbocker 
Agency,” said Mr. Dodd. “He said afterward 
that there was a boy there, who seemed frightened. 
My brother is president of the Agency, and he ad- 
vertised for the boy, but he never appeared. 
And the boy was you! Rodman, the loss of the 
stolen securities fell largely on my brother; that 


RODMAN’S STORY 


311 


is why Brian is spending tlie summer here. 
What became of the things that were stolen 
Rodman showed the wallet. Until last night, 
sir, they were in this, and Harriet had hidden 
them for me somewhere in this house. I didn’t 
know that they were your brother’s, sir, not till 
this minute. If my brother had known he would 
never have come here.” 

‘ ^ Still rather mysterious, ’ ’ remarked Mr. Dodd. 
‘ ^ Tell me it all as it happened. ’ ’ 

‘‘After the robbery, I went to our room,” said 
Rodman, “and I found my brother there. WTien 
I told him what I had seen he merely laughed at 
me and growled to himself; then he brought the 
bag from his bureau and took out the securities. 
He sorted them into two kinds. One he said he 
would send back.” 

“Yes,” remarked Mr. Dodd. “The non- 
negotiahle securities came back the next day, but 
we could not trace them. I was in New York 
then, trying to help my brother.” 

“We went immediately away from New York,” 
explained Rodman. “^“My brother took me to sev- 
eral places, and always he liked to read what was 
said in the newspapers about trying to find him. 
They were never near us. But, Mr. Dodd, I was 


312 


THE RUNAWAY 


always at him, trying to make him send hack the 
rest of the papers. He got very cross with me at 
last, which is very nnnsual with him. He told 
me never to speak of it again. Then I said that 
if he meant it I shonld go away myself, and earn 
my own living. It frightened him a little; we 
have always been very fond of each other. If you 
knew how good and kind he has always been — ! 
He said he ^d think it over, but I saw after a while 
that he just could nT send them back. We had 
two or three talks ; I begged him again and again 
to start fresh, in the West, anywhere, so long as 
he was living honestly. But I couldn’t succeed 
with him, though I know that more than once I 
almost did it. 

‘^Finally we had a real quarrel, sir. He was 
very harsh to me for a few hours, and took me on 
the train with him. We were in Worcester then, 
and he said he was going to take me to Canada. 
Then he began to gamble in the smoking-car with 
men that I knew were n’t half so clever as he. It 
was dreadful, Mr. Dodd, to see him get the better 
of them, and I just couldn’t stand it. I was go- 
ing to ask him to let me go away into the other 
car, and was leaning over him to whisper, when I 
saw the end of his wallet sticking out of his 


KODMAN’S STORY 


313 


pocket. I slipped it out, Mr. Dodd ; I robbed my 
own brother, and none of them saw me do it. 
Then I said I was going into the other car for 
fresh air, and he nodded over his shoulder. The 
train was slowed down, just then, and as I was on 
the platform I saw that I could step off. I did, 
sir; it was very easy and I didn’t even fall. I 
ran down the embankment, crossed the fence, and 
slipped into the woods. Then I wandered, and 
got into bogs, and slept in my wet clothes, until 
finally I came out on the road where Brian and 
Pelham found me. But it wasn’t Brian’s wallet 
I had in my hand; it was my brother’s. I was 
looking to see if it was all right, and to find where 
I could send the papers. I never saw Brian’s 
wallet at all, sir. ’ ’ 

Pelham could not restrain himself. ‘ ‘ He never 
lost it,” he said. 

Mr. Dodd rose from his chair. ‘^Are you full 
of mysteries too?” he asked. Then he sat down 
again with an air of resignation. ‘‘Go on and 
tell me what you mean. I may as well have it all 
at once.” 

He listened attentively while Pelham told his 
story. “Rodman,” he said at the end, “Brian 
has an apology to make to you. But I cannot see 


314 


THE RUNAWAY 


how this suspicion can ever be properly apolo- 
gized for.’’ 

Nate was rubbing bis bands. ‘‘Mistrusted the 
feller from the first,” be said. “ Jes’ as I trusted 
Hodman. Right in both cases, by jing!” 

“But, Rodman,” said Mr. Dodd, “you must tell 
me a little more. You say the wallet has been in 
this bouse?” 

“Harriet bad it, sir,” answered the boy. 
“When I bad hurt myself in falling, and found 
myself alone with her, I knew that I was badly 
hurt. So I gave it to her to keep for me. ’ ’ 

“An’ she kep’ it, an’ said nothing!” cried Nate. 
‘ ‘ She ’s a winner ! ’ ’ 

, “When your brother found you bad given him 
the slip,” asked Mr. Dodd, “be gave the wrong 
name?” 

Rodman nodded. “I think be realized that the 
newspapers might take the story up, and if the 
police were trying to find him, the name might be- 
tray him. And if you will remember, Mr. Dodd, 
your calling me Wilson surprised me, and helped 
me to look puzzled just when I needed to.” 

“I see,” said Mr. Dodd. “And your brother 
finally traced you here?” 

“No, sir,” answered Rodman. “I haven’t 


KODMAN’S STORY 


315 


talked it over with him at all, but when he saw me 
he was quite surprised — ’’ 

‘‘Hor on!^’ interrupted Nate. ‘‘That night 
you tried to go away, was it because you had seen 
this brother o’ youm?” 

“Yes,” replied Eodman. “I wanted to go 
away before he should see me, but Harriet stopped 
me.” 

“Explain, explain I” commanded Mr. Dodd, 
wearily. When Pelham had poured out an ac- 
count of the moonlight expedition he shook his 
head. “All these things going on under my roof 
and in my town, and I knowing nothing ! Rodman, 
how did she make you stay?” 

“She called me a coward, sir,” answered Rod- 
man, hanging his head. 

Nate chuckled. 

“And besides, Mr. Dodd,” went on Rodman, 
with less shame, ‘ ‘ she told me that I owed it to you 
all to stay. And then I asked myself, why had 
my brother come here at all, if not to do mischief 
to you all?” 

“WRat mischief could he do?” cried Mr. Dodd. 

Rodman grew very pale. “I ’ll tell you, sir, 
because I think it ’s for his good. He could do 
only one thing, and that was to rob you of the 


316 


THE KUNAWAY 


men^s money when it was being carried over from 
Winton/’ 

^^But Bob carries it!” exclaimed Mr. Dodd. 
‘^And Mr. Lee drove him yesterday. He made no 
attempt. ’ ’ 

Pelham spoke qnickly. ‘‘If be didn’t, sir, it 
was because Rodman prevented him.” And once 
more be poured forth a tale of recent history. 
Nate sat with bis eyes full of wonder, but Mr. 
Dodd listened with little change of expression. 

“I am beyond surprise,” be said at the end. 
“But I never thought that things of this sort 
could happen in this quiet place, and I not know 
it. — He meant to go away, leaving you?” 

“I think,” explained Rodman, “that he meant 
to take me with him. Failing to find the wallet, 
he may have decided simply to leave it behind. ’ ’ 

Mr. Dodd nodded. “It is likely. Now as to 
these securities, Rodman, I have them safely. 
Your brother gave them to me.” 

“He told you about them?” cried the boy, his 
eyes bright with sudden hope. 

Sadly, Mr. Dodd shook his head. “No, my 
boy. He is as you have showed him, clever but 
dishonest. He deceived me so completely that 
if you had not come to me with this story I should 


KODMAN’S STORY 


317 


to-morrow have given him a good deal of money, 
which doubtless I should never get back again. 
So far as money goes, my boy, you have paid me 
back, many times over, for anything I may have 
done for you.” 

But Rodman found no comfort in this. His 
downcast eyes were sad. kept the papers be- 
cause I did not know just what to do with them. 
You will have them sent back?” 

‘‘They are my brother’s,” answered Mr. Dodd. 
“I will send for him to come and get them. I 
want to talk this over with him. ’ ’ 

“But, Mr. Dodd,” said Rodman, “my brother 
— I — I don’t want him sent to prison.” 

“My dear boy,” replied the other, “he saved 
my Harriet’s life.” 

“ You will let him off?” cried Rodman, eagerly. 

Mr. Dodd shook his head. “That is a very 
simple thing to do. I should like to do something 
more difficult than saving him from prison. I 
want to study out how to save him from himself.” 

Rodman rose from his seat and caught Mr. 
Dodd’s hand. Through his tears his face was 
radiant. “Oh, sir,” he cried brokenly. “Oh, 
Mr. Dodd!” 

Pelham suddenly found that his own eyes were 
blurred. 


CHAPTER XXI 


ACTIONS AND REACTIONS 

W ELL,’^ said Bob, reluctantly, ‘‘it ’s almost 
time for church. I dl have to go ashore.’^ 
“Good hoy,’^ applauded Lee. “To please the 
old folks, ehP’ 

“Why, no,’’ answered Bob, sturdily. “I am 
sorry to leave this pleasant loafing, but I shall 
enjoy the service. You ’d better come along.” 

“Not I,” laughed the visitor. “I graduated 
from that long ago.” 

But after he had put Bob ashore and had spent 
some fifteen minutes in drifting idly along by the 
bank, he found that he had not yet a true answer 
to the question, WTiy not go to church I It might 
be amusing, he finally decided, to see how these 
simple people, in this simple place, conducted 
their worship. And so, paddling back to the 
landing, he pulled up the canoe on the grass and 
made his way to church. 

He felt amused when an usher, in obviously un- 
comfortable clothes, tiptoed in front of him down 

318 


ACTIONS AND REACTIONS 


319 


the aisle. The odd stiff boxpews, the hare church, 
the self-conscious choir, and the village folk, 
many of them apparently mill-hands, awkward in 
their Sunday clothes, all made him wish to smile. 
Even the old minister in his ancient broadcloth 
entertained the city man considerably. But when 
he looked to one side, and discovered the Dodds’ 
pew to be just across the aisle and a little in his 
front, he became sober. 

For there between Pelham and Harriet sat Eod- 
man. The boy was upright, with expectant eye 
fixed on the minister, and the brother, who loved 
him dearly, let his gaze rest with pleasure on the 
fine young head. His glance caressed the brown 
hair, the cheek still too pale, the earnest and at- 
tentive profile. Much of the service and the ser- 
mon passed unheard by Wilson Lee, yet his mind, 
suddenly influenced by love and by regret, learned 
its lesson from his study of his brother. 

When the service was over he slipped out at 
once ; none of the Dodds knew that he had been at 
church. At dinner he learned that the family 
was to have a picnic supper in the woods, to which 
he, of course, was expected to go. 

‘Hs there a road to the place?” he asked. ‘H 
could take some of you, and the food, in the ma- 


320 


THE RUNAWAY 


chine. The engine ’s not acting properly, but 
she ’ll do for short trips.” 

It was finally arranged that in his car he should 
take Mr. and Mrs. Dodd and Harriet, with the 
food supply. The picnic ground was on Mr. 
Dodd’s land, some three miles away, on the top 
of a little knoll in the woods where a spring bub- 
bled up in a grove of pine. A rough road led to 
it by a roundabout way; Bob and the two boys 
were to go by a path that led more directly over 
the hills. There was a question whether clouds 
in the west might mean a shower; but Mr. Dodd 
shook his head. 

’ll gladly be caught in a shower if only to 
break the drought,” he said. ‘‘But those clouds 
are too light as yet.” 

In the middle of the afternoon they all started 
for the grove, each of the two parties promising 
to get there first. Bob led his two younger com- 
panions at a brisk pace into the woods, over a 
couple of ridges and down a long slope. He set 
a good pace; Pelham followed briskly, but Brian 
lagged. Bob, turning once to see how the others 
were getting along, discovered to his disgust that 
his cousin had lit a cigarette. 

“Put it out, Brian,” he growled. “Don’t you 


ACTIONS AND REACTIONS 321 

know that you can’t keep up if you are smok- 
ing?” 

He strode on without waiting for reply, and 
Pelham never looked around. Brian read disap- 
proval in both their backs, and for a few yards 
smoked on defiantly. Then, feeling the pace too 
much for him, and seeing the need of going faster, 
he threw the cigarette into the bushes and hur- 
ried on. 

The three reached the rendezvous before the 
automobile. Mr. Lee laughed as they accused 
him of being slow. ^‘The hills are bad and the 
road mean,” he answered, not at all troubled. 

Still, I think I should have beat you if the en- 
gine was n’t skipping.” 

They unpacked their load, and Mrs. Dodd 
looked over her supplies. ^^We have ever so 
much more than we can eat,” she said. ^^Why 
didn’t we invite others to come?” 

‘^Oh,” exclaimed Harriet, ^‘we ought to have 
Rodman here!” 

Brian scowled, but the others approved. ‘‘Tell 
you what,” said Mr. Lee. “I ’ll get him here in 
three-quarters of an hour, long before you can get 
the potatoes cooked. Shall I?” Pelham and 
his father looked significantly at each other while 


322 


THE RUNAWAY 


they all, Brian excepted, uttered approval. ‘‘And 
bring Nate,’’ added Harriet. In another minnte 
the noise of Mr. Lee’s car was filling the distant 
woods. 

He reached the highroad, skirted the town, and 
dashed np the road to Nate’s. At the door of the 
house he found the owner and Rodman, appar- 
ently starting for an expedition, for they were 
equipped with baskets. Mr. Lee explained his 
errand, and the two looked at each ‘other doubt- 
fully. 

“You go with him,” decided Nate after a mo- 
ment’s thought. “I ’ll have to get some of that 
stuff for to-morrow’s work, but I can go quicker 
alone. — TeU ’em,” he said to Mr. Lee, “that 
I ’ll drop in on ’em about the time when the eat- 
ables are ready.” 

More slowly now Mr. Lee drove down the hill. 
From time to time he glanced at the boy at his 
side. Finally Rodman looked up in time to meet 
the glance and to smile. The older brother smiled 
at once. “Not afraid to go with me?” he asked. 

Rodman shook his head. 

‘ ‘ Supposing I should carry you off. ’ ’ 

The boy smiled confidently. “WTiat good 
would it do?” he asked simply. 


ACTIONS AND REACTIONS 


323 


Mr. Lee looked quickly at the road, and said no 
more. The car still ran slowly while he was lost 
in thought, and now in his turn Rodman stole 
glances at him. At last, with a long breath, Lee 
roused himself. 

‘‘Rodman,’^ he said, am going away.’’ 

^ ‘ Going away ! ’ ’ cried the boy. ‘ ‘ When ? ’ ’ 
To-morrow morning.” 

Where?” 

^‘Anywhere!” 

Rodman looked at him searchingly. ‘^Wilson, 
what are you going to do?” 

‘ ^ I am going to do what you have so often asked 
me: begin all over again.” 

The boy’s face lit up with joy. ‘‘And you ’ll 
take me with you?” 

“No,” answered Lee. “Now don’t be down- 
cast, Rodman. Listen while I explain it to you. 
Did you know that I was behind you in church this 
morning? Well, I was, and I did a lot of thinking. 
First I got to wondering at the good fortune that 
had thrown you among such kind people. I 
looked at them all — not that conceited Brian, but 
the rest. Mr. Dodd is a fine man, Rodman. You 
can trust him in anything. Bob is all right, Pel- 
ham too — but Rodman, that woman and that girl ! 


324 


THE RUNAWAY 


If I had had a mother such as that, a sister such 
as that — ! ’ ’ 

He paused for a long minute, then began again. 
‘^Well, they aren’t mother and sister to you, but 
they are the best of friends. I want you to stay 
near them; I think you ought to stay here where 
you can have schooling, and a boy’s natural good 
time, and — and friends^ Rodman. I never made 
a friend ; I thought I had them, hut when I needed 
them they were afraid to help me. These will 
stand by you through thick and thin. Don’t otfer 
to come with me. You must stay here, and when 
I have made my way (and the thought of you 
waiting for me will help me!) then I will come 
back and claim you. ’ ’ 

Rodman made no protest; he saw that his 
brother’s mind was made up. will wait for 
you, Wilson,” was all he said. But his look told 
that often he would be lonesome. 

‘‘Stay with Nate,” went on the elder brother. 
‘ ‘ He will treat you well. But in winter you must 
have schooling. I will send money for it — I shall 
have honest money by that time. I won’t send 
any other kind, you may be sure. ’ ’ 

“I know it!” responded the boy, happily. 

“This car is stolen,” said the man. “That is. 


ACTIONS AND KEACTIONS 


325 


I never meant to pay more than the first deposit 
on it. I shall send it back. To-morrow I shall 
simply slip out without saying good-by. As for 
those securities, Mr. Dodd has them. When you 
find him wondering where I am, you ’d better tell 
him what you know of — of my stealing them. He 
will know what to do with them. ^ ^ 

cried Eodman, have told him al- 
ready ! ’ ^ 

Lee looked at him in amazement. got the 
wallet from Harriet last night, explained the 
boy. found that you had taken the papers. 
Wilson, I did n’t see what else I could do than try 
to — to save you from some other — ” The boy 
paused. 

Crime!” finished the man. For a moment 
his expression was hitter, for another it was 
stem; but then his glance softened, and turned 
kindly to the boy. ‘^Eodman, you did the right 
thing, and I ’m not sorry for it. WTien are they 
to arrest me?” 

‘‘Oh, they won’t do that!” 

“Why not?” he demanded. “On your ac- 
count?” 

“On yours,” answered Eodman, softly. At 
his brother’s look of amazement he reminded him. 


326 


THE RUNAWAY 


‘^You saved Harriet, and Brian. Do you think 
that either Mr. Dodd or his brother would prose- 
cute you?’’ 

^‘And his brother?” asked Lee. Rodman ex- 
plained, and the elder fell into a study. ‘‘See,” 
he mused, “how one’s most careless actions — 
Why, I was reckless when I saved those two. I 
was willing to go over the dam myself, and he 
drowned with the rest, '-so sick of myself was I. 
And now — !” 

“Wilson,” begged the hoy, “won’t you stay 
here, instead of going away? Where can you 
get a better start?” 

The man quivered, and put the suggestion aside 
almost roughly. “A start?” he demanded. 
“Say a boost, Rodman. One man whom I robbed, 
and another whom I planned to rob, will give me 
a lift because I happened to save their children. 
Rodman, don’t ask me that. I ’d he ashamed to 
he so shameless. No, let me sneak away and hide 
myself till I have done something that I myself 
can take some credit in.” 

He quickened the speed of the car, and Rodman 
felt that his hope was vain. His brother’s face 
was firmly set; the lad knew the look, and that 
there was no changing his resolution. Yet as a 


ACTIONS AND KEACTIONS 


327 


matter of fact the resolution had been made with 
difficulty. More than once during the past week, 
after he had discovered the presence of Eodman, 
Lee had longed to go to Mr. Dodd and say: 
^ ^ Such and such are my faults and shortcomings. 
Will you help me to live a new lifeT’ Each time 
he had repressed the desire as a weakness, and 
now that he had done so much against the Dodds, 
in return for so much kindness to his brother, he 
felt the shamefulness of asking them to help 
him. 

They were welcomed at the picnic ground, 
where the fire for the potato roasting had scarcely 
been started against many difficulties. Lee lolled 
by himself and watched the others for a while. 
It amazed him to consider that Mr. Dodd knew of 
his wrong-doing, must have understood his 
scheme to defraud, and yet had not at once clapped 
him into jail. He did not like to mingle longer 
with these people; he was ashamed that they 
treated him so kindly. ‘^They are too good for 
me,” he muttered. All his self-confidence was 
gone ; only one fact was a consolation to him, that 
when he went away he could leave Eodman in the 
care of such friends. During the weeks when, be- 
lieving the boy to be somewhere in New York, Lee 


328 


THE KUNAWAY 


had been searching for him, he had suffered much 
anxiety. Now he could go his way in peace. 

As he thought thus he remembered his car. 
There was time for him to tinker with it before 
they started for home. Uncomfortable before 
Mr. Dodd’s unchanging kindness, the thought 
occurred to Lee that that very evening he might 
quietly slip away, not to return until he should 
come again with credit. So he went to the car, 
opened the hood, and disconnecting the spark- 
plugs began one by one to clean and test them. 
He found that the difficulty was not with them 
but with the carbureter, a more serious mat- 
ter. 

In the meanwhile there had been among the 
others more or less wrinkling of delicate noses. 
Harriet and her mother, as naturally the more 
fastidious of the party, complained that they 
could not get out of the smoke. ‘ ‘ The wind whif- 
fles so,” complained Mrs. Dodd. declare, I 
have moved half a dozen times, but the smoke al- 
ways follows me.” 

Her husband looked upward. don’t see why 
it should,” he said. ^^The wind is steady from 
the west, and has been growing stronger all day. 
There is a very brisk breeze overhead. Unless 


ACTIONS AND EEACTIONS 329 

there are eddies of the wind down here, I don’t see 
how the smoke can bother yon. See, it streams 
very steadily away from yon. Do yon smell it 
now 1 ’ ’ 

‘‘No,” admitted Mrs. Dodd. She and Harriet 
were silent on the snbject for a while ; indeed all 
forgot it hnt Brian, who as he listened to his 
annt’s complaints, and nnderstood his nncle’s ex- 
planation concerning the wind, had tnrned some- 
what pale beneath his tan. While the others now 
forgetfnlly chatted, from time to time he tnrned 
an anxions gaze np the wind, along the path by 
which he himself had come to the grove. And 
every little while he sniffed fnrtively. 

“What is it?” asked Bob of him finally. 
“Brian, what ’s eating yon?” 

“I thonght,” admitted Brian, “that I smelled 
smoke.” 

Now Bob too sniffed, and his face took on a 
look of snrprise. He looked at the fire, whose 
smoke was steadily drifting down the wind, away 
from the gronp. He looked at the treetops, which 
were bending before a stiff breeze that amonnted 
nearly to half a gale. Then, going to the very 
edge of the grove, he again tested the air that 
came throngh the woods. His snrprise changed 


330 


THE RUNAWAY 


to serious certainty. He went to Mr. Lee and 
watched him for a moment. 

‘‘Connect up quickly,’’ he said, in a low voice. 
“We may need the machine any minute.” 

Lee, with a single glance at his face, nodded and 
began to work briskly. Then, as Bob was talk- 
ing to his father, every voice was suddenly stilled, 
every head was raised, and hands were lifted for 
silence. 

‘ ‘ The fire-whistle ! ’ ’ breathed Harriet, startled. 

“One!” counted Pelham. 

“Two!” responded Bob the next moment. 

They counted again. One — Two, One-Two. 
“Fire in the woods!” 

“It ’s nothing to worry about,” said Bob, 
quietly. “We ’ve been smelling the smoke; it ’s 
somewhere to windward of us. But since the 
smoke is n’t very strong, it can’t be near. We ’d 
better — ” 

‘ ‘ Listen ! ’ ’ cried Pelham. 

They all stood silent. Some had heard a cry 
from the woods, and they waited for a second call. 
It came again, a loud halloo, and with it seemed to 
come a stronger whiff of smoke, in which was the 
heat of fire. For a third time came the shout. 

“It ’s Nate,” cried Rodman, alarmed. 


ACTIONS AND REACTIONS 


331 


In another moment they saw him hurrying up 
the path. But was it Nate, or had something 
changed him? His clothes were tattered, his face 
blackened, and he staggered as he came. Nate, 
so strong, so firm of stride, hung his head as he 
reeled along, and drew his breath in gasps that 
they could hear from a distance. The men started 
toward him, but before they could reach him he 
collapsed. 

Then, when they stood over him, they under- 
stood. His clothes were badly burned, his hair 
was scorched, and his face was blackened by the 
soot of fire. He had come through the fiames to 
reach them! 

‘^Nate!^^ cried Mr. Dodd, bending over him and 
shaking him. 

Nate raised his head. ‘^Git out o’ this!” he 
gasped. ‘^The fire ’s behind ye an’ on both sides 
o’ ye. I came through the swamp, but all the 
trees are burning now. There ’s only one way 
out. If ye ain’t quick the fire ’ll cut you off!” 

They stared at each other and at the woods. 
Nate was right! The smell of smoke was 
stronger every minute, and now, through the hiss- 
ing of the wind overhead, could be heard a distant 
crackling. And they so thoughtless there! 


332 


THE RUNAWAY 


‘‘No time to lose!’’ cried Nate. 

Bob ran to Lee. “Are yon ready I” be asked. 

Lee shook his head. ‘ ‘ The spark pings are con- 
nected,” he said, “bnt I had the carbnreter partly 
taken apart. Give me three minntes.” He 
worked withont stopping. 

Bob frowned and looked at the road. “Shall I 
send the boys ahead!” 

“No,” answered Lee. “The car will carry 
them all, bnt I hadn’t fixed the tronble. Once 
she ’s going, it won’t be safe to stop to pick any 
one np.” 

And so they waited. There was one moment 
of dreadfnl donbt when Bob gave the news ; then 
Mrs. Dodd, wise as she was, took command. “We 
might as well be saving what we can,” she said. 
“Children, be packing the things together.” All 
she wanted was to bnsy them ; she knew that the 
baskets mnst be left behind. 

They sprang to the work easily, all bnt Brian. 
Pelham felt reckless and half jnbilant, Harriet 
nervons bnt not afraid, Rodman eager to serve; 
bnt Brian stood with fear on his face. It was not 
fear for himself. No, for the first time in weeks 
he thonght first of others. What had he done ! 

Qnietly Mr. and Mrs. Dodd watched Lee at 


ACTIONS AND REACTIONS 


333 


work. Bob stood by bis side, banding bim tools 
as be asked for them, taking them as banded back, 
and asking no questions. It was plain that Lee 
knew wbat be was about, even tbougb all tbe time 
be was shaking bis bead. 

I ’d bad but fifteen minutes more,’’ be mur- 
mured. 

But at last be straightened himself. He threw 
bis wrench into tbe open tool box, and closed^ tbe 
hood. Bob cast in tbe other tools and shut tbe 
box. Then be stood ready, watching Lee, who 
sprang into tbe car and adjusted tbe throttle and 
tbe controller. He nodded at Bob. 

Crank her!” 

Bob stepped to tbe front of tbe machine, ad- 
justed tbe crank, and heaved tbe fly-wheel over. 
But no answering roar responded from tbe en- 
gine. Mr. Lee changed bis adjustments. 

Again!” he said. 

Bob cranked again, but again a single puff from 
tbe cylinders was tbe only response. ‘^Once 
more!” commanded Lee, but once more Bob 
failed. He looked up with ashy face. 

‘ ‘ She won ’t start ! ’ ’ 

^ ‘ She will ! ’ ’ answered Lee, calmly, and stepped 
from tbe car. He motioned Bob to bis place be- 


334 


THE RUNAWAY 


hind the wheel, and himself seized the crank. 
Once he heaved, twice he struggled, and each time 
came failure. Then twice, three times in suc- 
cession he whirled the crank around. Failure 
would have meant a crippled arm, but he did not 
fail. The thunder of the engine suddenly filled 
the grove. Mr. Lee stepped hack. The sweat 
was pouring down his face. 

^^Stay there, he said to Boh, and hurried to 
Nate. ‘^Aboard!’’ he shouted to the others. 
They flocked to the car, while he assisted the all 
hut helpless dyer thither. But when he was by 
the side of the car, Nate found strength to resist. 

Leave me be,’’ he croaked, hoarsely. All 
strength was gone from his dry throat, hut his 
meaning was plain. ’m crowdin’ ye — an’ it 
makes no difference if I stay.” 

Lee, still supporting Nate, nodded Mr. Dodd to 
the seat beside Boh. ‘Mf you ’ll hold Nate at 
your feet, sir — ” Mr. Dodd prepared to take the 
dyer between his "knees, hut still he resisted, 
mean it,” he said. 

‘‘So do I,” replied Lee, firmly. He raised Nate 
in his arms and settled him securely on the floor 
of the car. “No more of that, Nate. I ’m run- 
ning this affair.” 


ACTIONS AND REACTIONS 


335 


He Rad indeed, taken charge, and the others 
waited for his word. ‘‘Now, Mrs. Dodd, you and 
Harriet in the hack seat — ^if only I had n’t ordered 
such a narrow tonneau! — Pelham on the further 
step; Rodman, here by Nate’s feet. Brian — ” 
And he hesitated, eyeing the car. 

“Let me stay,” offered Brian, suddenly. 

He meant it. He felt that in that way he could 
pay for his starting of the fire — for that his cigar- 
ette had caused it he felt agonizingly sure. But 
Mr. Lee shook his head. 

“Can’t afford you the pleasure,” he said, gaily. 
His seriousness was vanishing, and his eyes were 
once more flashing with daring as the danger 
drew nearer and nearer. “Now, Brian, quickly, 
here at your aunt’s feet.” He saw the hoy safely 
in place. “Now,” he said, “I ’m on the springs 
behind. All right. Bob. Start her!” 

And Bob started the car. It glided across the 
carpet of pine needles, and sped down the slope 
beyond the knoll. Mr. Lee listened with critical 
ear. “I knew it!” he growled. “Skipping just 
as badly. — On the hill the second speed. Bob. 
Shift her easily.” 

Bob made the shift, and the machine labored 
up the hill. ‘ ‘ Going well ! ’ ’ said Bob, satisfied. 


336 


THE EUNAWAY 


‘^Look!^’ shrilled Pelham at the top. 

There was a gasp from them all. They saw the 
fire ! To right and to left it had been marching 
through the woods, deflected by the swamp behind 
the picnic knoll. Now it was encircling them, its 
two wings, like the flanks of an army, swinging to 
meet each other. The hollows roared with flame, 
and the heat struck upward in a blast. The nar- 
row way of the road was still clear, but they heard 
the crashing of falling trees in the woods on 
either hand. And on both sides smoke was curl- 
ing close to the road. 

Harriet grasped her mother’s hand. She shud- 
dered, yet she — ^her real self — ^was not afraid. 
Race-courage, family pride, and personal fear- 
lessness held her erect as she gazed wide eyed at 
that valley of death. 

‘‘Not too fast. Bob,” warned Lee over her 
shoulder. “Very bad rocks in the road, as I re- 
member.” The car rushed. down the slope. Bob 
steering with all the skill he had. It swayed and 
skidded, yet managed after all to keep to the ruts. 
The blast of heat was furious now, the snapping 
of the flames was loud, and the cracking of wood 
rose almost to a roar. The bottom was reached, 
and still no tree had fallen across the road. But 


ACTIONS AND REACTIONS 


337 


the steepest hill of all lay in front, and the fire 
was within a few yards of it on either side. 

Second speed,’’ called Lee from his place. 
‘‘Plenty of gas. Bob. Open the cutout. Drive 
her!” 

He watched the progress with the utmost care. 
The hill was steep, the surface sandy, and sud- 
denly he groaned aloud. The wheels spun in the 
sand, and for a moment the speed was checked. 
Mr. Lee sigh^d^ Jthen he smiled, and stepped softly 
down into the road. He put his shoulder to the 
car, and pushed. Once more the wheels gripped 
the surface, and the car groaned onward. He 
made a snatch at the projecting mud-guard, in- 
tending to run behind, but at that instant he 
stumbled and fell. When he rose the car was 
hopelessly far ahead of him. 

He smiled again, a little wistfully. He wished 
that he might catch hut a glimpse of Eodman, 
but the bulk of the car concealed his brother. 
“Good-by, dear lad,” murmured Lee, yet still he 
smiled as he labored up the road. He felt no fear 
of the fire at his side. Perhaps this was the best 
way to end it all. 

The automobile rolled on. Nate had fainted 
in his place, but from the steps, from the seats, 


338 


THE RUNAWAY 


all the rest but Bob cast fascinated glances at 
the fires that raged so close on either hand. Then 
again faces were hidden from the heat that 
seemed to smite upon the eyeballs, or turned to 
look for cinders that burned hands or clothes. 
But Bob kept his eyes upon the road, noted each 
rock, each bump, each hollow, and nursed the car 
as it labored up the hill. No jaunty recklessness 
sustained him; plain dogged courage kept his 
head steady in spite of the cinders that scorched 
his neck. He fastened his hands to the wheel, 
inditferent to the fiecks of fire that burned 
them. 

And the top of the hill was reached! With it 
they reached the front of the fire. Bob shifted 
the gears, and the car leaped forward. He 
wished for the speed of yesterday, yet in spite 
of its bad firing the car was swift. A mile ahead 
lay safety, for there was the reservoir which Mr. 
Dodd had drained early in the summer, on whose 
bare basin the fire could not run. Against the 
heat they could have protection in the big pool 
that still marked the lowest spot. The mile was 
quickly passed, and Bob, running the machine 
into safety, stopped at last. One by one they 
stepped down. Mr. Dodd lifted Nate down by the 


ACTIONS AND KEACTIONS 


339 


waterside, where his wife began, with wetted 
handkerchief, to lave his face. At first no one 
said a word. But then there came a cry from 
Eodman. ‘ ^ My brother ! ’ ’ 

‘ ^ Mr. Lee ! ^ ’ echoed Pelham instantly. 

No one answered; he was not there. They 
looked at each other in horror ; then Brian in de- 
spair cast himself down upon the gravel. His 
fault ! 

Pale as paper, Eodman looked up at Bob where 
he still sat in the car. ^^You will go backP^ he 
asked. 

will!’^ answered Bob grimly. Starting the 
car again, he swung it about. Mr. Dodd, waiting 
where he must again start toward the road, 
stepped silently aboard. Then Eodman leaped 
upon the step. 

‘‘Go hack!^’ they told him. 

“No!^’ he answered, clinging desperately, lest 
they should attempt to break his hold. His eyes 
appealed to Mr. Dodd, and the man yielded. 

“Go on,’^ he said to Boh. 

Those left behind watched the car enter the 
wood-road again. Behind the screen of the trees 
they heard the distant roar of the fire, and the 
faint crash of falling trees. Brian crouched lower 


340 


THE RUNAWAY 


still. He should have gone in Rodman’s place. 
It was the one way in which he could have expi- 
ated his fault. 

They waited a long time. Harriet and her 
mother stood close together; at times the girl 
shuddered, and struggled with a sob, hut her 
mother was motionless. Her eyes were on the 
road. Pelham, coming to her and taking her 
hand, found it very cold. And the minutes 
passed, the fire roared nearer, and no sign came 
from the woods. But at length they started; 
even Brian raised his head. 

^ ‘ The horn ! ’ ’ asked Pelham doubtfully. 

Again came the harsh honking from the woods, 
like a hoot of triumph. And then the machine 
shot backwards out of the road, down the beach, 
and out upon the gravel. It approached them, 
reached them, stopped. Mr. Dodd was in his 
place, and on the step was Rodman, his eyes 
streaming with tears. Where Nate had lain was 
now another motionless form. Mrs. Dodd looked 
anxiously at her husband, but he was smiling. 

^^Just in time,” he said. ‘‘He will come to. 
We had to stop at a fallen tree, but Rodman ran 
ahead and found him.” 


CHAPTEE XXII 


OUT OF THE SMOKE 

B rian couM not recover himself. It was in 
vain that he told himself that he, and the rest 
of them, could have escaped from the fire by run- 
ning. He knew better. It was vain, also, to 
reason that the fire had not started from his 
cigarette. It might have begun from a dozen 
other causes. But inwardly he knew that here 
was a real cause for the fire; other causes were 
but guesses. And again, when the fire-fighters 
from the town had stopped the blaze and searched 
for its origin, they concluded that it had started 
somewhere near the spot on the path where he 
had thrown the cigarette away. It was in vain, 
again, that when he heard the damage estimated 
at about three thousand dollars, he told himself 
that some day he would pay his uncle back — not 
in cash, perhaps, but by the present of an auto- 
mobile. He knew that the loss of the timber was 
nothing to his uncle compared with the loss of the 

341 


342 


THE RUNAWAY 


beautiful woods and the fine old grove. Wbo 
could give these back again! 

So Brian ^s self-satisfaction had left him. It 
was not possible to find his former contented 
state of mind so long as his conscience bothered 
him about these matters. Nor was that all. Now 
that he felt his guilt concerning the fire, his mind 
began to work backward to other faults. That 
day of his neglect of Harriet — that was a shame- 
ful affair. It was all very well so long as he 
could put it out of his mind, could feel vexed with 
Rodman and out of patience with Harriet’s fussi- 
ness. But now he saw it differently. He had 
been mean — mean ! 

And there was yet one other thing. The fire 
had come from carelessness, the desertion of 
Harriet from impulse (and he had tried to make 
it good), but what could be said of his letting Rod- 
man lie under suspicion of theft, and all because 
he, Brian, had been ashamed to acknowledge that 
he had mislaid his wallet! It had been deliber- 
ately done, and in all the weeks that had passed 
since then, with all the opportunities for confes- 
sion, he had locked his lips, and allowed the lie to 
stand. When Brian thought of this, — and he 


OUT OF THE SMOKE 


343 


thought of it more and more — he felt a growing 
horror of himself. 

Matters were no better because no one spoke to 
him of his faults. Not a word had been said of 
the cause of the fire, though it was too much to 
suppose that Bob and Pelham did not suspect 
him. If they only would speak! If only some 
one would accuse him of causing the fire, of de- 
serting Harriet, of lying about his wallet! He 
knew it would be a relief. 

Anyway, he said to himself, punishment was 
sure. Now that his father was here in the house, 
he would soon be told. Why else had he been 
sent for? Once or twice Brian had seen his 
father angry. He winced as he thought of what 
was in store for him, yet he felt a kind of satis- 
faction at the thought. He deserved it. Besides, 
anything was better than this thinking, thinking, 
hour by hour. Wouldn’t somebody finish it! he 
asked himself savagely. 

As Brian suspected, the others had placed the 
guilt of the fire on him. ‘‘Brian’s cigarette did 
it,” Bob said*to his father. “What ’s more, he 
knows it did it. Do you remember how he offered 
to stay behind, there in the grove ! ’ ’ 


344 


THE KUNAWAY 


‘‘So that was it,’’ mused Mr. Dodd. “I won- 
dered, even at the time. And any one can see 
how he ’s brooding now. — Well, we need say 
nothing about this. It would trouble his father 
very keenly — why, he and I used to picnic in that 
grove forty years ago. I ’d rather he ’d think it 
some accident, unless Brian himself tells. — ^Yet,” 
said Mr. Dodd, after a pause, “I think his father 
ought to be told of this affair of the wallet.” 

Bob, and his mother, and Pelham, and Harriet 
— for this was in family council — all nodded as- 
sent. They could see no other way. Pelham and 
Harriet, however, seeking each other’s eyes, 
silently came to an agreement. Nothing should 
be said of Brian’s desertion of Harriet at Win- 
ton. The poor fellow had enough of a load of 
trouble. 

“Father,” asked Harriet presently, “shall you 
tell Uncle Eichard?” Looking through the win- 
dow she had seen her uncle, smoking his cigar in 
a garden seat, reading the morning paper. 

“I am unwilling to,” answered Mr. Dodd. 
“He and Brian don’t understand each other very 
well; I am afraid that this would not help.” Mr. 
Dodd said nothing more of his thoughts on this 
point, but his wife knew them very well. Like 


OUT OF THE SMOKE 


345 


many busy fathers and indulged sons, the city 
Dodds lived lives quite separate from each other. 
Entire ignorance of each other’s ways of think- 
ing had year by year set them further apart. The 
father’s ideals might at times be enforced with 
severity, but most of the time they were never 
mentioned. A transgression would be punished, 
but the long neglect did much to make transgres- 
sion possible. Mr. Dodd shook his head. Brian 
ought to tell his father himself.” 

^‘Then, Father,” persisted Harriet, won’t 
you speak to him?” 

^‘Harriet,” explained her father, think I 
understand the boy. I think he ’s worrying over 
what he ’s done ; I believe he ’d do much to undo 
the harm. I really think he would be relieved if 
some one should come and accuse him. Then he 
would confess. But he would be losing a great 
opportunity to repair his fault — at least as far 
as concerns himself. Nothing that Brian can do 
would strengthen his character so much as to 
make up his own mind to tell. ’ ’ 

More was said, and then interruptions came. 
Uncle Dick himself came into the room, proposing 
to his brother they go and see how Lee was get- 
ting on. Harriet, once more catching Pelham’s 


346 


THE RUNAWAY 


eye, signaled that she wanted to speak to him, 
and slipped out to the piazza. In a minute Pel- 
ham joined her. 

‘^What ’s the scheme?’’ he asked briefly. 

‘^Pelham,” she returned, ‘‘what did you do 
with Brian’s wallet?” 

“It ’s hidden in my bureau,” he said. “What 
do you want of it?” 

‘ ‘ Brian is wandering in the garden, ’ ’ explained 
Harriet. “Poor fellow, he moons about a good 
deal. Pelham, I want you to slip upstairs and 
lay that wallet on Brian’s bureau, where he can’t 
fail to see it. Then watch, and when he goes to 
his room let me know. ’ ’ 

“What ’s it all for?” he demanded. 

“Didn’t you hear Father say that of his own 
accord Brian ought to tell on himself? I ’m try- 
ing to make him do so.” 

“I don’t see it,” objected Pelham. 

“You don’t need to,” she laughed. “The plan 
may fail. But, dear Pelham,” and Harriet grew 
serious, “please do as I ask.” 

Neither of her brothers could resist Harriet 
when she pleaded. “ ’T is done!” he answered, 
and slipped into the house. In a minute he re- 
turned. “The wallet is on his bureau where he 


OUT OF THE SMOKE 


347 


can’t miss it. And he ’s coming toward the 
house. I saw him through the window.” 

‘‘He didn’t see you?” inquired Harriet anx- 
iously. 

“I ’m sure he didn’t.” 

“Then,” she said, “I ’m going into the gar- 
den. — It ’s just a scheme of mine,” she explained 
to his questioning gaze. “It may not work. 
And Pelham, will you please make sure that Un- 
cle Hick doesn’t go away from the house for a 
while ? ’ ’ 

“Very well,” he answered. “I hope the 
scheme works, whatever it is. — There ’s Brian, 
now, just going in the side door.” 

“Keep out of his way,” advised Harriet. 
“Good-by.” She went toward the garden, and 
Pelham, while trying to keep out of Brian’s sight, 
busied himself with ascertaining the whereabouts 
of his uncle. 

Brian went into the house by the side door, 
which was not customary with him, and stole up- 
stairs into his room. In his depression he felt 
that perhaps he might find consolation in a new 
necktie. But he had not half opened the drawer 
when he stood fixed, staring at an object on the 
bureau. 


348 


THE KUNAWAY 


His wallet! Eis wallet? He was almost 
afraid to pick it up, but bent nearer, scrutinizing 
it carefully. Yes, discolored as it was, and 
somewhat out of shape, it was the wallet which 
he had buried. He ventured to take it in his 
hand. There was no doubt in the matter at 
all. 

Feeling suddenly very shaky, Brian sat down. 
That dry, stiff object which he held in his hand 
took away the last of his courage. He looked 
about him fearfully; he dreaded to hear ap- 
proaching footsteps. How did this thing come 
here? What did it mean? He tried to think it 
out. 

At first all he could see was a threat. His 
meanness was known, and punishment would fol- 
low. This was put here as a warning of the rev- 
elation which he could no longer avoid. Every- 
body, everybody would be told 1 

Then a sudden hope came to him. Perhaps 
the gardener, digging up that bed of asters, had 
found the wallet. Some housemaid had said, 
‘‘Oh, that is master Brian’s,’’ and had put it 
here. Perhaps there was no more in it than this. 
Anxious to learn if his guess was correct, he 
sprang up and hurried to the garden. He made 


OUT OF THE SMOKE 


349 


his way among the paths to the spot which 
he remembered uncomfortably well. There it 
was — ! 

He stopped short, for the bed had not been 
touched. Every aster stood in its place, freshly 
and stiffly erect. Some seemed ready to bud. 
He could not see a place where a plant was miss- 
ing. Somebody, then, had carefully dug for the 
wallet. Who could it be? There could be but 
one answer. Harriet ! 

At the thought of her he turned, and found her 
standing near him. 

She was looking at him a little sadly, but with 
much kindness. Brian had often felt uncomfort- 
able in her presence, remembering what she knew 
of him. He had often resented her straightfor- 
wardness. But now that look of kindness, aided 
by his knowledge of her steadfastness, went to his 
heart. Some barrier within him broke ; the ice of 
his selfishness melted away. 

‘‘Harriet,’’ he cried, “I want to tell you every- 
thing.” 

Her face brightened with joy. Nothing was 
better for him just now than willing confession, 
and she felt happy that he offered it. Her own 
share in bringing him to this she forgot; she re- 


350 


THE RUNAWAY 


joiced only that his change of heart had been ac- 
complished. 

‘ ‘ There is no need of telling me, ^ ^ she answered. 

But he put her reply aside. ^ ‘ I must tell you ev- 
erything,^’ he repeated, with a thrill of relief in 
his voice ; and recognizing his need of speech, she 
listened. He poured out all his heart to her. 
She could not spare him any part of it. If she 
interposed, ‘‘Yes, I remember that,” neverthe- 
less he told her all, anxious that she should un- 
derstand the whole of his meanness and littleness. 
“You don’t need to beg my pardon,” she said; 
yet he asked it again and again. But as she 
listened she realized how with every word he ut- 
tered he was taking one more weight from his 
conscience. He felt better, indeed he felt almost 
satisfied when, his last word said, he knew that 
he stood before Harriet as a sneak and a cad. 

‘ ‘ What do you think of me ?” he demanded. 

“I think better of you than ever before,” she 
replied with a heartiness that put new courage in 
him. “Not every one would speak so of himself. 
There is only one better thing that you can yet 
do.” 

“I will tell Rodman,” he offered, flushing 
deeply, and looking at the ground. 



“You don’t need to beg my pardon,” she said 










4 - 





OUT OF THE SMOKE 


353 


‘ ‘ Eodman will not want you to tell it all to him. 
Ask Ms pardon, Brian ; that is all. I meant that 
you should tell your father.’^ 

He turned pale as his startled eyes came hack 
to her face. — I canT!’’ 

‘‘You must,^’ she answered, firmly. “Brian, I 
have heard Father and Mother, yes and Bob too,, 
say it again and again — there is nothing so valu- 
able to a boy as a complete understanding with 
his parents. Uncle Dick is in the house, and he 
will understand you. ’ ^ She saw that he was wav- 
ering, and took him by the arm. ‘ ‘ He will not he 
unkind. Come with me, Brian. 

Pelham, watching from the piazza, saw them 
coming and slipped into the house. His father 
and uncle were in the writing-room, hut his 
mother was just passing through the hall. He 
stopped her. “Mother,’’ he said, “I think Har- 
riet is bringing Brian to speak with Uncle Dick. ’ ’ 
“Good!” she responded, pleased. 

“Uncle Dick is quick-tempered,” hesitated 
Pelham. “Can’t you — I” 

“I ’ll try,” she said, after a moment’s thought. 
She kissed her son. Her heart was warm with 
the thought of the confidence which existed be- 
tween her and her children. She went into the 


354 THE RUNAWAY 

writing-room, and stood looking at her brother- 
in-law. 

‘‘You ’re serious,” he said. 

“I feel very glad,” she answered. “But Rich- 
ard, Brian is coming to tell you something. ’ ’ 

' He frowned. “What mischief has the boy 
been up to?” 

“There,” she said, ’re serious now.” 

She came and put her hand on his arm. ‘ ‘ Prom- 
ise me you ’ll be gentle with him. ’ ’ 

His frown vanished as he looked at her ; he ad- 
mired his sister-in-law. “I was wrong, Mary,” 
he said. ‘ ‘ I will be gentle. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Thank you, ’ ’ she answered, and with her hus- 
band went from the room. 

Brian, entering, found his father prepared to 
be kind, and lucky it was. For the father, as he 
pieced together the broken tale, felt now shame, 
and now anger, and now exasperation. His con- 
temptuous exclamations, his stern questions, 
nearly took away the boy’s courage, so that at 
last his voice broke and tears rolled down his 
cheeks. And then, as he saw his son so humili- 
ated before him. Uncle Dick remembered his 
promise to his sister-in-law. He realized that 
the boy was telling the story honestly, sparing 


OUT OF THE SMOKE 


355 


himself no accusations, offering no excuses. The 
father summoned his patience, spoke gently, and 
gave the boy new courage. 

‘‘My boy,^^ said the father at the end, “what 
you did against Eodman you must explain and 
apologize for.’^ 

“I will!’’ promised Brian eagerly. 

He did not foresee how hard it would he to ex- 
pose his own dishonor to the boy whom he had 
wronged; hut the father, realizing this last hu- 
miliation to the proud lad, softened still more. 
He saw the boy’s sincerity, and believed that pun- 
ishment would go far enough. 

“Brian,” he said slowly, “both of us are sorry 
that these things have happened; but since they 
have, nothing could please me better than your 
telling me. ’ ’ 

“Father!” Brian’s voice broke again. 

There were tears in the other’s eyes. “I — ^you 
remind me of my own weaknesses at your age. I 
blame myself. I ought to have been with you 
more, so as to prevent such things.” 

Brian seized his hand, and his father sought 
relief in a very shaky laugh. “But we ’ll see 
more of each other in the future — eh, my boy I” 

“If you ’ll let me go hack with you,” said 


356 


THE RUNAWAY 


Brian eagerly. ’d like to work for the rest of 
the summer in the office. These hoys all work. 
Pelham takes a pride in helping his father. I ’d 
like to try to help yon, sir. ’ ’ 

‘‘Why, Brian,” cried his father, “you could nT 
please me better.” 

“And,” the boy added, “if I can earn a little 
— anything! — toward paying for those woods — ” 
He stopped, feeling how little, how very little, he 
could do to repair his fault. 

• But his father, gratified at the signs of man- 
hood, held out his hand. Silently they struck 
hands upon a bargain that was to keep them close 
friends. 


CHAPTER XXIII 


GETTING EVEN 

I T was at last something like Mr. Lee^s old 
smile, jaunty and winning. ‘^Came through 
after all, didn’t I!” he asked. 

‘‘Oh, yes,” answered Rodman tremulously. 
“And I ’m so thankful, Wilson.” 

The elder brother’s smile faded. “7 wish I 
hadn’t.” 

“Oh,” began Rodman eagerly, “but when you 
think — He stopped. “You saved us all,” he 
said. 

Lee shook his head. “Nate did that. He was 
the true hero. It was natural for us all to want 
to get out of the fire, but for him to get in — ! 
I ’ve thought of it many a time since I lay here. 
He ’s all right, I hope.” 

“He ’s asleep across the hall,” said Rodman. 
“It ’s pretty hard to say whether his burns are 
the worst, or yours. But he says it was n’t hard 
to get in to us. He found a place where the fire 
was thin, thanks to the swamp. ’ ’ 

357 


358 


THE KUNAWAY 


^‘Just the same,’’ persisted Lee, ‘‘he could 
have stayed outside. — Well, I shall be down- 
stairs to-morrow, the doctor tells me, and per- 
haps then I shall have a chance to tell your Nate 
what I think of him.” 

Eodman grinned. “A great sight it will he, 
you and he swapping compliments, each shutting 
his own ears and trying to make the other listen. 
— But, Wilson,” and his face changed, “I shall 
be so glad to have you up again ! ’ ’ 

“So shall I,” responded his brother. “I want 
to get away.” 

But he did not say it with energy. Instead, his 
mind shrank from the exertion. Three days of 
suffering had reduced both his strength and his 
resolution. Eodman, watching him, took a little 
heart. 

“Wilson,” he said, “Mr. Dodd told me to say 
that if you were able to see him he ’d he glad to 
speak with you.” 

The other made a face. “I can’t keep him 
away from any part of his house that he wishes 
to visit.” 

Eodman laughed. “Can’t you? But he wants 
to bring his brother.” 

“Brian’s father?” asked Lee. “They told me 


GETTING EVEN 


359 


he had come. What does he want with me — oh, 
I remember.’’ He scowled, but even his scowl 
was feeble. ‘‘They ’re bringing a policeman 
too?” 

“Wilson,” said Eodman earnestly, “won’t yon 
listen to what they want to say to yon? Agree to 
it, I mean.” 

“Oh, certainly,” replied the other. “Always 
agree to everything before I hear what it is. 
Saves tronble.” 

“I ’m glad yon can joke,” said the yonnger. 
“I ’ll bring them in.” 

In another minnte they entered the room. 
Richard Dodd was like his brother in bnild, not 
so fine nor strong of face, yet a man to like. 
They smiled at Lee as they shook his hand, in- 
qnired after his health, and passed the nsnal 
small civilities of the sick room. Bnt by the end 
of them they were seated as if they meant to stay. 
Rodman, for his part, had sat down on the bed by 
his brother. 

“Gentlemen,” said Lee snddenly. “Let’s 
have no beating abont the bnsh. I snppose I 
know what yon ’re here for. A certain strong- 
arm criminal, highwayman and confidence man, 
has been victimizing one of yon and was abont to 


360 


THE RUNAWAY 


play Ms tricks upon another. He ’s in your 
hands now, without strength to run away, or 
tricks to try. Entirely at your service, gentle- 
men. ^ ^ 

^^We didn’t come to say that,” rejoined Mr. 
Dodd, “but since you begin with this matter, 
let ’s consider it. Rodman has told me, Mr. Lee, 
that before the fire you had planned to go away, 
with your last trick, as you call it, unplayed, and 
my brother’s securities safely in my hands.” 

“Yes,” admitted Lee. “But as it happened, 
on his information you were ready for me had I 
stayed.” 

“That ’s not the point,” persisted Mr. Dodd. 
‘ ^ The fact is that, not knowing what Rodman had 
told me, you had made up your mind to go away 
and begin a new life. As the revivalists say, you 
had had a change of heart. ’ ’ 

Lee looked sheepish. “Well, I ’m not a lover 
of goody-goody phrases, but I suppose you ’re 
right about it. ’ ’ 

“Good,” said Mr. Dodd. “Now let ’s look at 
the side of the matter that I prefer. On the day 
that you came here you saved — ” 

Mr. Lee held up his hand. “Deal gently with 
the invalid, sir. He hates compliments.” 


GETTING EVEN 


361 


‘‘That makes it a little hard for me,” replied 
the other, “if you call facts compliments. Well, 
bear that fact in mind, and then the other fact, 
that last Sunday — ” 

“Nate ^s the hero of that occasion, sir,” inter- 
rupted Lee. 

“Nate shall squirm under his compliments, 
just as soon as he is able to hear them,” answered 
Mr. Dodd. “Meanwhile, let me ask if it was 
Nate who stepped off the automobile when its 
wheels slipped in the sand? — DonT you know,” 
he said, speaking so earnestly that Lee dropped 
his eyes and made no move to answer, “that 
everything I hold dear was on that automobile, 
and that you saved us all? Let me acknowledge 
my debt, sir.” 

“And mine,” added his brother. 

“So,” went on Mr. Dodd, “we came to offer 
you a choice. We speak, too, for all the house- 
hold. First concerning your intention to go 
away from us. You have debts, Eodman says; 
there is at least the automobile to he paid for. 
You must make a fresh start somewhere. I will 
give you my check in blank to take with you. It 
will be good for any sum up to ten thousand dol- 


362 


THE RUNAWAY 


lars. My brother will want to supply bis share 
of wbat you use. ’ ’ 

Mr. Lee looked up quickly. ‘‘I can’t take that, 
of course.” 

^^Tben,” said Mr. Dodd, “consider this. If we 
would stand by the first offer willingly, and think 
that we had not paid the half of what we owe you, 
this other we would make good still more readily. 
— Mr. Lee, there is a little house in this town, va- 
cant, for which I have not yet found a suitable 
tenant. It is about the right size for you and 
Rodman, with a visitor when you choose. I know 
a woman who can keep house for you very nicely. 
And in my business there is a place for an able 
young man, to act as traveling agent and relieve 
me and Bob of work which is more than we can 
do.” 

Mr. Lee was looking at him intently. “Do you 
mean that?” 

“I do,” answered Mr. Dodd, smiling. “The 
pay will be good, the position permanent — for I 
know that you can fill it. In a growing business 
like mine, Mr. Lee, my greatest difficulty is to find 
dependable helpers.” 

When Lee spoke again his voice was husky. 
“And you make a criminal your friend?” 


GETTING EVEN 


363 


‘‘If I didn’t,’’ returned Mr. Dodd, “then my 
brother here, my wife, my children, all would be 
ashamed of me. I should be ashamed of my- 
self. ’ ’ 

Mr. Lee fell back on his pillow. “Mr. Dodd, 
you take me when I am very weak. ’ ’ 

Mr. Dodd’s eyes were twinkling. “So much 
the better, if I can persuade you. What is your 
answer?” 

Lee looked at his brother, whose eyes were 
shining with hope. His own were suddenly dim. 
“Eodman will answer for me.” 

In an evening in the early fall the Dodd family, 
now reduced to its own natural size, was in the 
big living room. School had already begun, and 
Harriet and Pelham had but just finished their 
lessons for the morrow. They had come from 
their upstairs study prepared to disturb the peace 
of the more sedate members of the family, when 
the maid announced a visitor. 

“Mr. Nate!” 

“She will call me that,” said Nate, grinning as 
he entered. “Still, I can’t rightly say as I blame 
her, seein’ there is n’t one in twenty in this town 
as knows me by any other name.” He put down 


364 


THE RUNAWAY 


on a chair the bundle that he carried, and ad- 
vanced, still grinning, nearer to the group. 

exclaimed Pelham, know what 
you ^re pleased about.’’ 

‘‘Not ashamed of it neither,” answered Nate. 
“It ’s my innin’s again after more ’n two 
months. ’ ’ 

“I see,” said Mr. Dodd. “Mr. Lee goes away 
to-morrow on the first of his trips, and Eodman is 
,to live with you. ’ ’ 

“He is,” responded Nate, nodding with great 
satisfaction. “School’s perfectly handy from 
my place, even if there ’s snow on the ground. 
Oh, I expect to have the youngster with me, on 
an’ off, for a good many weeks in the year.” 

“Don’t forget,” reminded Mrs. Dodd, “that 
sometimes we are to have him.” 

“I know,” answered Nate, with a wry face at 
the prospect. “Brian says too that he wants the 
boy to come to the city for the Easter vacation. 
Yes, I know such things hev got to happen. Jes’ 
the same,” and his face brightened, “I ’ve got my 
innin’s now!” 

“Won’t you sit down I” asked Mr. Dodd. 

But Nate continued standing. “I ain’t got 
nothin’ to stay for,” he replied. “Jes’ wanted 


School dress!” she cried. “Sunday best, you mean 







GETTING EVEN 


367 


to look in and say how satisfied I am with things. 
Someway everythin’ turned out right. Even that 
nevvy o ’ yours, sir, he ’s turned out to be a Dodd 
after all. An’ Mr. Lee — I heard tell as you said 
you don’t know how you got along without him.” 

^‘We don’t,” agreed Bob heartily. ‘‘Father 
and I have our time left free for things that we 
were aching to get to work on. He ’s taken a 
whole department on his shoulders.” 

“And as for bein’ honest — asked Nate, with 
a glance of shrewdness. 

“Nate,” answered Mr. Dodd, “we never think 
of it.” 

“That ’s how it ought to he,” rephed the dyer. 
“Now all you good folks, I really did come to say 
somethin’, and I ’m glad you ’re all here together. 
I ’ve done a lot o’ thinkin’, up there alone, an’ 
I ’ve satisfied myself as to who gets the first prize 
for this summer’s performances.” 

“The first prize?” inquired Mr. Dodd. “I 
never heard there was such a thing. What do 
you mean?” 

But Nate had taken up his bundle and was open- 
ing it. “Harriet,” he said, “I s’pose your 
mother ’ll be makin’ you a school dress soon?” 

“Yes,” answered Harriet, surprised. 


368 


THE KUNAWAY 


“How T1 tMs do for it!’’ asked Nate. He had 
completely opened his bundle, and now threw 
across her knee a length of shimmering, dove-col- 
ored broadcloth. 

“School-dress!” she cried. “Sunday best, 
you mean. — But Nate, is this for me!” She 

looked upon the smiling faces of her family to see 
if she could be mistaken, and then looked at the 
delighted dyer. 

“For you,” he answered. 

“But why!” she stammered, overcome with 
surprise and delight. Nate had never given away 
a piece except to her mother. 

Nate was making for the door, but he threw an 
answer hack over his shoulder. “Why! Be- 
cause, Harriet, you ’ve earned it ! ” 


THE END 



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